


Stolen

by TariTheNurse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Timeline, Anger, Angst, Asgard (Marvel), Creepy, Dark Loki, Emotional, Enemies to Lovers, Evil Loki, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fantasizing, Fear, Feels, Fluff, Frustration, Gen, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Knowhere (Marvel), Locked up, Lust, Magic, Memories, Mild Sexual Content, Miðgarðr | Midgard, Multi, Nudity, Pawn in a game, Pining, Plans, Plot, Plotting, Post-Battle of New York (Marvel), Revenge, Sass, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Slow Burn, Smut, Smutty undertones, Sometimes lack of proofing, Stubborness, Tessaract in play, The Tesseract (Marvel), Timeline spawned in Endgame, Trauma, Unplanned Exhibitionism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, Where will it end?, birthright, emotion, gifted reader, no way out, old trauma, prisoner, shift in feelings, space, spite, Álfheimr | Alfheim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 43,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TariTheNurse/pseuds/TariTheNurse
Summary: "Reader has managed to live under the radar even during the past events of the battle of New York where Loki was beaten before he managed to escape. Now it looks like her unknown status is about to change in the worst way possible."This takes off where the alternate timeline introduced in Endgame left us.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel) & Reader, Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 108
Kudos: 91





	1. The High End of Low

The problem with always buying more books, you've decided, is that it requires rearranging the entire bookcase to fit the new treasures in according to alphabet. Engrossed in the task, you don't bother climbing off the chair you're standing on (to reach the top shelves) in order to check out the sound of screeching tires and sirens – it's a normal noise in the city anyways. You do react a moment later when someone knocks on your door, though.

"Just a minute," you yell as you jump down and deposit the stack of literature (Bi- to Da-) on the chair.

They spy hole shows nothing, so you half expect the knocking to be a prank by some of the kids in the building but open never the less.

In tumbles Aïsha, your upstairs neighbour, bruised and battered.

"Thank God you're here!" Tears stream down the young woman's face. "My leg...the car chase..." The rest is unintelligible sobbing but the point is clear enough as she doesn't put any weight on the left leg.

It's slow work getting her indoors and settled on the couch with the leg up before you can set to work playing nurse – something very far from your actual work. At least, you thankfully figure out, nothing seems to be bleeding or broken.

"You can use my phone to call anyone. Need to see a doctor?" Your hands are shaking in pure sympathy with Aïsha's pain.

She grimaces. "Can't affo-ord...it."

"Well...I might have something cold to stop a swelling...let's start there."

There's a bag of frozen peas in your freezer which you dig out from behind some leftovers and a forgotten popsickle. Wrapped in a tea towel it gets placed gingerly on Aïsha's knee where she's hurting the most.

"Oh God oh God oh God!" She groans, barely holding back the tears. "Hamid's gone with work until tomorrow...I need to pick up the kids a-and how’m I getting up the stairs?!"

A risky idea makes itself known in you mind, one that would betray your own secret if you followed through with it. And still...how would you feel letting the sweet woman be stuck in a situation like this? Your hands are gently holding the peas in place, allowing you to sense the damage in the joint. It's bad.

"Just...just give the cold a moment to work, 'kay?"

Sniffling, your neighbour agrees. Sitting in silence, you have time to concentrate on a little piece of a melody with words no one else understands – barely audible but efficient none the less.

"I-it doesn't...it doesn't hurt as much now!" Aïsha exclaims a dozen minutes later.

Allowing yourself a ghost of a smile, you readjust the placement of the peas. "The ice worked. Ni-"

A golden shimmer surrounds the leg, making it slimmer. Longer. Stronger. Wrapped in leather, a male leg now rests under your hands. Astounded by the change, it's as if you turn your head in slow motion to see the one menace you never expected to face.

"Loki."

Any attempt at getting away is ruined when he grabs your neck with a cold, unshakable hand.

"Surprise," he smiles deviously.

... Loki ...

Oh, to inhale the scent of fear, to see panic shimmer in the prey’s eyes! The thrill bubbles over Loki’s lips in the form of laughter which sends the mortal scurrying – or rather: she tries to, but he holds her in place. Digging his nails into her scalp, he can feel the skin break and the woman shudder soundlessly.

”You!” [Y/N] nearly spits the words at him.

“Yes,” he smiles, “me. Astounding show of intellect. I do sincerely hope this isn’t the pinnacle of conversational depth we just shared or our time together will be come quite tedious.”

The Trickster can see her mind race, trying to find a way out of his trap. Even if they have never met before, she (quite appropriately) already knows what lengths he  i s willing to go to; after all, it  i s no more than a few months since he laid waste to a part of this ver y city which she calls home. 

He interrupts her before the questions come pouring. “It’s simpel, mortal maiden,” he explains calmly, “you’re coming with me. You see, I need your skills to regain what is mine by birthright.”

“No...I can’t...I don’t have...why..._no!_”

Staring into the [Y/E/C] eyes, he sees the fear is still there even if it  ha s  been  pushed aside by something stronger. “It was not a request,  _mor-tal._ ” He makes sure to accentuate the last word, implying what the consequences of disobedience would be. “You don’t have a choice...and if not for your own sake, then let your cooperation be for the sake of Aïsha.  Show me what you can do. ”

“I can’t _do_ anything! I’m just -”

A flick of his hand opens the door with a shimmer, revealing the closest thing Loki has come to a servant during this messy time, and a prisoner. Locked in a tight grip and nearly swathed in ropes is the mortal living above [Y/N], her soft curves jarred by the tightness of the constrictions. A dark bruise is forming across her face and the scarf is dangling around her neck – a part of it used to gag her.

“Monster.”

It is a whispering hiss, but enough to make the rage boil inside Loki’s chest. “I’m not the _monster_ here, little girl, you are if you don’t use your skills for me.”

A choked sob escapes the bound woman, fuelling the sense of power trickling through the Jotun’s veins. But [Y/N]? She simply glares at him.

“I have no skills.”

“Sure?” For a second they stare into each others’ eyes. “Suit yourself.” All it takes is a nod towards the hired muscle before Aïsha’s body crumbles to the floor after a knife has plunged into the oh-so-soft Midgardian flesh, the thud silenced by the curses falling from [Y/N]’s lips. “Of course...if you let her die, then I know you truly have no powers.” He pushes her roughly towards the dying woman, not caring how roughly she lands on the floor. “Your choice.”

Admittedly, Loki can’t be bothered to listen to the endless stream of snivelling apologies, but it is fascinating to see her hands work in a frenzy to cover the wound before iridescent light appears beneath them. ‘Sorries’, and ‘pleases’ fill the room, even as the breath of the slain grows strong once more and [Y/N] scrambles to cover the dark hair that had spilled from the fabric that had been wrapped diligently around the head before Loki had surprised her. At this point, however, the former Asgardian’s attention is solely on where a gaping wound should be.

“I believe that seals the deal.” In two steps, he’s upon the gifted woman, pulling her effortlessly from the kneeling position by the upper arm. “Time to go.”

Withdrawing a glowing, blue cube out of a pocket between the dimensions, he opens a portal through which the two males step, unceremoniously dragging [Y/N] along.


	2. Misery Machine

...  Reader ...

There’s a storm raging inside you, the force nauseating and frightening as the chaos disables any logical thinking. Around you, the world has changed. Your apartment has been replaced by the interior of what could be a  ship . Or a submarine. Or a bloody spaceship. Metal walls in drab colours blur past you while Loki drags you down the narrow hall before shoving you over the high threshold to a small room (“room” might be too grand a word, actually).

“Before you try, let me help you by divulging a fact -” Loki grins, the smile never bringing any warmth to his eye, “you cannot escape. If I let you run...oh, it would be fun to hunt you down...if you run, there’s no way off the ship and even less hope for you outside. No one’s coming to your rescue. No one is out there to see and save you.”

“Perhaps not.” You hate the shrill sound of your voice. “Keep me prisoner for as long as you want. I will _never_ help you!”

The male who had dragged Aïsha in steps forward much quicker than you could ever have anticipated from someone  that bulky and you don’t have time to dodge the thundering punch to the jaw that sends you sprawling across the floor where you only come to a halt as your shoulders and back hit something.

  
  


… Loki ...

“Arox.” The oaf turns from the dazed Midgardian with a puzzled look on his face. “If you lay a hand on her again, I _will_ control your mind and make you flush yourself out of the airlock. Are we clear?”

“Uhh...yeees.” Arox rubs the back of his neck so roughly the intricate patterns on his skin are distorted. “But uh but ehm...what if she tries to escape?”

_ Stay calm.  _ “You let me know and I’ll deal with it. This one is  _ not _ to be harmed. We need her intact.”

B ehind the brute, [Y/N] shakes her head in an effort to regain her bearings. Blood is dribbling from her mouth, mixing with the involuntarily shed tears on a cheek that already is swelling  just like the fear in the rest of her features at the realization of what just happened.  _ Perhaps she can come to fear me less? _ A simple order sends  Arox away.

She's a curious thing. Defiant, impossibly weak yet ready to attempt besting him at his own game. Loki sees the way she shrinks away as he walks over to pull her up by the arm, his icy fingers digging into the soft, warm flesh for a moment until she's on the bed.

"I won't," she whimpers, "I won't help you."

"You don't even know what it is I require from you."

He can see the hesitation in the way [Y/N]'s mouth is gaping slightly, the tongue quickly wetting the lips before she takes to worrying the bottom one with her teeth. It's almost endearing. _Innocent._

"It can't be anything good if it's you."

_ Ah, there we go. _ The Jotun should expect resent from her kind, he should be prepared for the hatred aimed at him even now that Odin is far away. Still...the words are a stab to his heart similar to earlier when -

"Believe what you want. Eventually, you will do as I tell you."

With that, Loki stalks out of the cabin, making sure to lock the door securely.

  
  


… Reader ...

Your insides are burning with anger, matching the throbbing ache of your face until you allow yourself to heal the damage the brute made. _Arox__._ _More like “__a rock”__._ You cringe both at the bad pun and the situation. _I'm so fucked._

Finally seeing straight, you tiptoe to the door and press an ear against the cold metal (not quite as cold as Loki) but no sound makes it through to you. It's too tempting not to try for freedom even if the plan already is hampered by lack of an obvious way to open the door. You do find it quickly, though: a sensor on the panel prompts a warning in red accompanied by a pictogram showing a rectangle with a red cross over.

"Damnit! OUW!" Apparently a kick doesn't make any difference either.

It's so tempting, leaning against the immovable surface, to break down and cry – the catharsis would be unparalleled for the duration of the tantrum. But then what? You'd still be stuck fuck-knows-where with a maniac of a god and his muscle man. Besides...you can't let Loki have that win.

Looking around the room properly for the first time, it becomes evident that the place is meant as a personal space rather than a prison cell: there's a desk with a rubbery sort of stool or chair (it looks more like a mushroom) moulded into the floor and the bed had felt quite comfortable. Slotted seamlessly under the bed and into the walls are drawers and cabinets of various proportions, but it's the door at the other end of the room that gets your heart beating with excitement at the prospect of escape however slim the chance might be. _Don't be a fool._ Callous words of warning in your mind does nothing to prepare you for the disappointment when you find yourself in a tight and practical bathroom. There's no way out, except through the door Loki used and locked behind him.

A tiny whimper escapes your throat before a sob chokes you from deep inside the chest as if it's pulling not just the air but your lungs, heart, and soul into a black hole of despair and there's nothing you can do as the floor comes blurring up to greet you with a crash that jars your bones.


	3. Fundamentally Loathsome

… Reader ...

Five days have passed. Or four. Or perhaps it's been a week. To be honest, you don't really know how long it's been because the only hint of time passing is the rise and fall in natural needs. Loki comes with food seemingly twice a day and often he uses the visits to attempt to conjure up conversations – even treated with complete silence, he chats calmly about all sorts of pointless subjects, many of which you don't know anything about. Still, there's one thing he touches upon more than once.

"Who taught you magic?" It doesn't matter that you don't answer, he just smiles his creepy smile before leaving you alone once more.

It has become a routine that slowly is getting to your sanity and deteriorating it bit by bit unless you find a way to entertain yourself. The little room has become your entire world which you have explored every inch off and tried to adapt to suit your needs. Physical exercise? Not something you normally are a fan of...now it’s one of the few things you can do to keep your mind off things. Entertainment is a severe issue even after you accidentally find a function on a panel that opens the window shutters to the endlessness of space – and brought the little hope you’d scrounged together that day crashing down.

You see...there’s something the movies don’t show in the sci-fi adventures: space is exactly what the word implies. Space. Empty space, to be exact. The endless parades of stars and swirling galaxies? Nope. Sure, sometimes there is light out in the distance but it doesn’t bring any sense of comfort to you, just dreadful isolation manifesting itself with renewed power. It’s impossible for you to tell if it’s Loki’s way of messing with you. Perhaps he purposefully sticks to the vacant areas of infinity to get under your skin. After all, who would remain stubborn when the outlook is as dark as this?

Attempting to remind yourself of who you are and where you come from, you do what generations of humans have done before and recount the stories you know or sing the songs you remember.

  
  


... Loki ...

A muffled melody catches his ears as he walks past the locked door, making him tilt the head in amusement. Too faint to pick out more than a few random words, Loki remains rooted in place until the tune changes together with the hope that the prisoner might be breaking.  _ Time to expedite the process. _

If the door had been mounted with hinges then he would have loved to slam it open and startle the mortal, instead he leans against the door frame, grinning as the view slowly is revealed with [Y/N] seated on the desk with the back to him. Her feet, resting on the seat, are tapping along slightly off the beat. The song grows hesitant before it stops all together and her head dips – it’s as if Loki can feel the breath she takes and he imagines his scent filling up her lungs along with it.

“How prettily the caged bird sings.”

Of course, he’s given no answer: the stubborn Midgardian just sits there with the back straight as a rod and shoulders squared. _Such fragile shoulders._ Oh, she may try to appear tough, but he could crush every bone in her body if so inclined, and as to remind her of this, Loki walks over and slides cold fingers up her arms before coming to rest on the tense muscles.

“No need to stop now, my pet, I will make you sing is I wish,” he promises on a whisper.

Sitting down behind her, the god easily pulls the warm back against his chest  and savour s the chills obviously racing up the woman’s spine. A lesser man could forget the great scheme of things if he pressed his nose into the hair to inhale the nigh toxic mixture of fear and subtle rebellion against the natural submission.

Whispering into [Y/N]’s ear, he enunciates each word carefully.  “ I could force you. Hurt you. Have you asked yourself why I haven’t?” Of course she has, he can tell by the  way  her breathing stills. “Because, you will come to recognize my claim is righteous and so you will do your part of your own free will.”

“Impossible!” Under the breath, she adds, “I don’t even know what it is.”

“ Ask and you shall learn.” 

The doubt and distrust is rolling off the mortal in waves, clinging to his skin like sweat while she makes up her mind. “Fine! What’ya gonna do? Sell me as a slave?”

“Not right away.” Loki snickers at the chills shaking her body. “We are going to the realm of Alfheim where  _ you _ will use your magic to heal their _ beloved  _ priestess thus placing them in debt to me.”

“...and? I mean, now we  _ are _ dreaming.”

Part of his plan or not, the former Asgardian prince feels like ripping her tongue out for the insolence. Shoving her off the table instead, her chest  forced into the squishy seat even as she fights the force of his grip, Loki presses down upon her to  squeeze the air from her lungs.  _ The heat _ . It’s maddening, a sweet burn that penetrates his trousers’ and tunic’s front as if they were skin to skin when he bends over her.

“My dreams, little  _ slave _ , are your nightmares.” Face millimetres from her ear, he drives the point home with a slow lick along the jawline. “Do not forget your place.”  _ Kneeling. Before me. _

S he can’t see the grin on his face as he stalks out, leaving her trembling with tears.


	4. The Speed of Pain

… Reader …

Sitting on the bed, you’re completely absorbed by the gorgeous light show outside the window where gazillions of stars are drawn and condensed into a rim brighter than anything you could have imagined – at least compared to the orb the width of your thumb inside. A black hole. The term is familiar but that’s almost the only knowledge you have of the phenomenon, and most astronomers would probably kill to be in your place right now under the guise of “knowing more” or for the sake of “research”.

With a view as mesmerizing as that why would you bother turning when Loki enters and leaves by the whoosh of the door? You don’t.

Minutes drag by until a detail registers in your mind. _Did the locks activate?_ Torn between hope and the nauseating confidence that you’re imagining things now, the few steps to the access panel are further away than ever before. Hands shaking, breath superficial, you reach up to poke the dark screen.

_What the -?!_ It takes all your strength to keep standing as a couple of blue symbols present themselves, each with an obvious option.  The reasonable thing would be to expect that it’s a trap and Loki it waiting just on the other side of that door to catch and punish you for trying to leave. On the other hand...maybe luck actually exists.

I t’s unreal when the door slides into the wall to reveal a way out. Never has painted metal looked more inviting or as liberating, and you almost admire it for too long, barely slipping out as the gate to freedom begins to close.

The interior of what you since have learned to be a space ship had appeared dismal and claustrophobic when you arrived.

“Freedom.” The shakingly whispered word is all you can muster for now.

Looking around, your minimal knowledge of space travel tells you that you’re in a sort of cargo hold with cabins lining the sides towards a metal staircase leading up to the right at the very end. To the left is...nothing. Well, there’s a sort of ramp slanting up against a wall but even though you instinctively know that’s the real way out you also know it’s usual considering that thing called “space”  outside, reducing the options to just two.

“You’re not ‘sposed to be out.”

T he warbled, deep voice makes your cheek sting with the memory of pain.  It doesn’t take long before the cool metal stops your frantic backpedalling, making Arox-or-whatever-he’s-called grin.  _Like a hyena just without the sound._ The only way is around him.

“See’f you can catch me, then.”

As stupid as he’s repulsive, the man charges headfirst towards you, leaving you just enough time to slip out a piece of song that conjures a dense fog. Judging the distances by the sounds only, you press yourself to the wall just in time to avoid a collision with him – it does sound like he collides heavily with the metal you’d been backed against just a second ago: first a hard smack and a grunt, then a sound like a sack of  lour hitting the ground. 

_Move, c’mon legs!_ Thankful for the support of the wall, you pass the closed door to your former confines as you aim for the edge of the fog and a clear view. At least there isn’t much to trip over, but you know you have to move fast or the mist will start spreading before dissipating as the magic fades, so your hands slide along the wall, feet gingerly probing the metal grate of the floor for fear there should be an unevenness. 

In the haze, the blue lights of a door panel are eerie,  ghost-like ,  and you can’t help but be comforted by the clear view as you access the room despite what you actually see. The layout is identical to yours the place is still less spartan thanks to the pile of leathery, inhumanly big clothing in one corner and the neat array of weapons on the table. What must be guns of the space variety flank some vicious knives with jagged handles and symbols etched into the blade. Tempted to take one, you also realize that they’d be as big as swords for you...not to mention that you have no idea how to fight with a weapon of that kind.

Q uickly deciding to move on as the fog is thinning, the next two cabins flanking the staircase are empty which brings you to the one at the very end of this level.  _This gotta be Loki’s._ Already, the little hairs on your body are standing, your feet itching to move away and you have to force yourself to walk up to it.  _Let him be upstairs. Or something._ Blue lights glare accusingly at you, but no one complains as you have a look inside the place.  _Empty._

A few steps, the brush of a finger, then the door slides shut and you lock it behind you before getting to work. Confident that you don’t have much time, you ignore the muzzled, silk sheets on the bed and the clothes dangling from hanger in an open cabinet. No, it’s the personal trinkets and the row of old-looking books that are of interest to you – at least until you realize you can’t read a single word and the thingamabobs are  nothing more than writing tools, pretty drinking glasses, and something akin to a chess set.

“If I were an insane killer alien...where would I hide anything personal?” you mutter as you keep searching, now head deep into his closet.

“Tsk tsk.” The sound makes you freeze with the fingers around a leather belt. “Haven’t we learned our place yet, little pet?”

  
  


... Loki ...

G reen and black shimmer in the shadows as [Y/N]  straightens her back. “Leaving the door to my prison unlocked wasn’t an invitation?”

“A test.” He can’t help chuckling at the sight of muscles working in her shoulders and arms as though she’s wringing her hands.

Her breath trembles. “One designed for me to fail if I did anything.”

_ F rom your point of view.  _ Loki, however, has learned much more about the stubborn creature now than during the last fortnight by watching her actions. Unseen at the top of the stairs, the scene between the attempted escapee and [Y/N] played out to reveal more of the nature of the magic in her blood  and her tenacity. It had even surprised him when the weapons were left untouched.

“As fun as this has been,” he smiles, “it’s time to return to your own...cell.”

A lesser man, a mortal, would not have seen the leather belt whipping towards his face as she turns around but being a god, Loki catches it in the air even before the air cracks at the force behind the attack of the insolent girl. It stings his skin, but the eyes widening with fear in her face is a balm to soothe the worst of wounds.

“Pray tell: what did you intend to accomplish with that?” He tugs sharply and secures the entirety of the belt, and still she doesn’t answer. “Was it a blunt attempt to prove your strength of spirit even under less than favourable circumstances? A, shall we say, display of force of will?” Stepping close to her, the Jotun slips the leather around her neck – spicy, cold fear fills his nostrils immediately. “Or did you simply not...think?” One wrong word and Loki will cut it short.

Pupils have dilated with fear. The lips caught between her teeth. Still the jaw is set stubbornly as if to prove that regardless of every thought (if any) before the rebellious action has a strong foundation in which to grow.  Loki will savour the thrill of breaking her slowly, watching her crumble to be rebuild in his image.  _ Or to die. _

“Do as I wish, mortal. Heal the priestess and I may let you go home.”

[ Y/N] hesitates, brows furrowing as she tried to determine the odds and figure out where the catch lies. “Liar.”

“So you’d rather let the priestess suffer a slow, painful death than have a chance at freedom?” He can see the protests boiling within her even if she stubbornly refuses to retort. “I suppose we’ll see in a few days’ time.”


	5. The Beautiful People

... Reader ...

Loki hadn’t lied when he had foreshadowed a turn in events within days.

“Put this on.” He tosses a bundle of mixed fabrics at your face.

It’s a struggle to figure out what goes where as you untangle the silk and organza before you can see that it’s a dress fit for Lord of the Rings  LARP ing. “You gotta be -”

“I’m not. Now put. It. On.”

An awkward silence follows where both of you wait for the other to do something, but eventually the god groans in annoyance and points to the bathroom door as if you could trust having a minimum of privacy even there as long as he remains in the room. Still, you oblige.

Stripping down to your underwear, you slide your arms into the cascading sleeves, already loving the smooth feeling of the white inner layer. It tickles as you pull the dress over your head and allow it to fall into place, but the lovely feeling evaporates when you look in the mirror.  _A white tent with soft green mosquito net over it, _ your mind objects sarcastically. Perhaps it would pretty on someone else? The wide cut bare ly holds on to the shoulders, making you feel  naked even if the dress covers decently otherwise.  Add  a  lack of makeup or elf-like hair and it’s obvious that this must be Loki’s way of grinding you further into the dust of  self-loathing .  No amount of silvery embellishment at the se a ms can change your mind.

Speaking off the captor, his voice cuts through the door at that moment. “If you do not hasten, you’ll regret it.”

_I already regret everything._ Opening the door, you shuffle out to him with your head held low.

  
  


... Loki ...

Though not unpleasant, the sensation of a tiny warm spark in his chest startles the former prince of Asgard when he lays eyes upon his prisoner. Intriguing, as she has been since he first learned of her existence, [Y/N] is not supposed to be anything else than a tool in his plan yet her countenance has appeared unbidden in his mind at the most inconvenient of times lately and now...now a softness towards the woman is taking hold within Loki.

Displeased with himself, he refocuses. “Lift your arms.”

She does, granting him access to tie a silver sash around her waist. As he finishes the knot, he lingers to enjoy [Y/N]’s fragrance and the sound of her spee ding breathing,  a tempo which he involuntarily  adopts and follows as cold fingers play with her hair.  _One more detail._ With a twist of hand, the Jotun reaches into a pocket realm to pluck out a thin, silver tiara – nothing more than a circlet, really, fashioned to the likeness of a snake with emerald eyes. Once in place, Loki hums in approval.

“One might even think you weren’t simply a mortal.” Of course, she doesn’t seem to believe him but merely keeps her gaze on their feet. “Ah, yes...you must go barefoot. Your instructions are simple, my pet, you shall -” he continues, calmly circling her –”do _exactly_ as I say: speak only when spoken to, pretend your presence and task is of your own free will while letting any and all decisions fall to me who must remain at your side throughout this quest. Furthermore, you _will_ heal the priestess. Failing to do any of these things will result not only in your own punishment but also in the death of those you care about. I have sent Arox to Midgard, your Earth, with instructions to kill in two days from now unless I _personally_ retract the order. Do not test me. You will fail.”

[ Y/N] is fighting to keep her poise, eyes brimming with tears she is too stubborn to allow to fall – a willpower Loki finds echoed in the set of her jaw and the teeth biting into that perfect bottom lip. A single sniff le escapes before she dries her eyes with the back of her hands.

“Let’s get it over with, then.” There isn’t even a hint of a tremble in her voice.

Deciding not to say a word at risk of betraying how impressed he is, Loki reaches once more into the other realm and retrieves the priceless cube he escaped from New York with. Even after all the pain and trouble, he knows the importance of keeping it out of reach of his former “master” - it is as vital to his plans as [Y/N] is.

Bending his will to resonate with the Tessaract, a shimmering bauble of indigo swallows them and spits them out a second later. Loki is familiar with this way of travelling whereas the woman stumbles slightly. Grabbing her by the upper arm, the Jotun straightens her and locks her in place next to him.

“Smile,” he orders with a whisper, and right on time too. From all sides the sound of running feet hails the arrival of the temple guards.

  
  


... Reader ...

Survival instinct dictates paying attention to people with weapons aimed at you but honestly, your eyes would be glued to these people either way. _Woah. They are..._ Your brain wriggles to find a proper label only to come up empty and dazed by the view.

Every single person is different from the next while still being the epitome of perfection: godly toned bodies, ideal skin, lustrous hair. There is even a sort of glow that you thought strictly belonged to anime characters rather than actual flesh and blood humans. _Humanoids._ On second look, you do notice features fit for fantasy novels. _My life has turned into a sci-fi-fantasy!_ Too bad the cold presence of Loki standing next to you is a strong reminder this isn’t a pretty story waiting to be enjoyed.

Words are shouted. Loki replies calmly, a soothing balm which seeps into the voices as a conversation carries on while you stand there lost, waiting for a cue.

“Sweet [Y/N].” Loki finally turns to you. “Explain to the kind people of Alfheim what you hope to accomplish.”

His eyes hold a warning only you can see. Cold, hard, like precious stones cutting through your soul easily because they have been sharpened with knowledge that he, this so-called god, is mad enough to do exactly as he has threatened.

So of course you readjust your lips into a sweet smile. “I am here to lend my skills and heal the Priestess.”

The chorus of sing-song voices is the only proof that your announcement has been well received until they signal for you and Loki to follow them.

For the first time, the surroundings begin to stand out as if the place didn’t even exist before. Fresh lines and curves shape arches reaching for the heavens – without the dark weight from the Gothic architecture of Earth – with wide windows and doors giving every wall an airy aesthetic. Marching along the hallways of the building, its grandeur is evident in the glittery stones it seems carved from, cool under your bare feet. Crystals are hung from the ceilings, catching the natural light and amplifying it...but not fracturing it into the shards of rainbows you would expect at home. Passing niches, you catch glimpses of golden statues of serene men and women, the metal somehow softened by potted plants that are leaning in as if to hug the figures.

“Do not gawk.” Loki’s voice is enough to bring your spirits down just as they were beginning to take flight at the wonders around you.

You had expected to be brought directly to the priestess and for the agonizing wait before Loki’s verdict of your cooperation to be over as soon as possible. Instead, you’re brought to a grand room with chaise-lounges and poufs scattered over a mix-match of soft carpets where you are told to wait. Servants come and go with fresh fruits and golden wine which you can’t stomach any of despite your abductor’s gleeful enjoyment of it all – all you can do is to walk about in a daze for the fear that you will fail.


	6. Holy Wood

… Loki …

_Finally._ Ever since the thundering defeat in New York (well, since he fell from the Bifrost), life has offered very little luxury to the man who still considers himself a prince and so being treated like royalty now they have arrived at Alfheim feels like a sweet relief from pain and misery. Leaned back, a glass of the famous, honeyed wine in his hand, Loki is finally able to relax for a moment. 

Or...he could have if it wasn’t for the presence of a certain mortal whose nerves are higher strung than  Captain Rogers. 

He barely has any patient left to restrain himself after [Y/N]’s sixth round of the room.

“Sit down.” Although spoken calmly, she flinches at his request or perhaps the reason is how he pats the seat right next to himself on the couch.

Loki sees her hesitance, sees the warring in her mind. Still, she does as told and barely objects to the arm wrapping around her shoulders and dragging her down to rest against the pillows.

“I’m loathe to tell you this,” Loki whispers confidentially, “yet...although you have sold our little act to the guards you have still to convince me.”

Her breathing stills, smothered by a surge of panic. “I...it’s...I’m tryi-”

“Shhh.” Again, [Y/N] complies with his wish. “Don’t over-complicate this, it really is quite simple. Hmm? By saving one life, you save the lives of those you love. Is that not a noble cause?”

The perfect lips part, still, then close without an answer slipping past. Like a child, the woman is wringing the silk of the long sleeves between her fingers as if the words she so desperately needs will drip from there. Once more, she tries, giving up with a shuddering breath.

_My patience is wearing thin. _“Tell me.” Simple words with the strength of creeping frost.

“HowcanIknowitwon’tleadt’worse?!” Covering her mouth out of fear more will tumble out, [Y/N] stares at him with wide eyes.

Loki could force her hands away or threaten her to explain herself, instead her gently laces his fingers with hers to grant her the freedom of speech. He can feel her hands shaking, clammy sweat covering the soft palms, and he wishes for a moment that his magic could grant her strength. _Am I becoming weak?_ Shoving the thought aside, the god pins her with a gaze.

“Explain yourself.”

Again, she hesitates, but this time not for long. “ I want to save my friends and family...probably the priestess too...” [Y/E/C] eyes meet his for the first time in days. “But what if  _that_ in turn will get even more people killed? You’re not exactly known as the peaceful kind, and now you want these people to be in your debt? Why? To use their army or something? To-to try and take over Earth again?!”

_Ah, of course._ “Your pathetic world is of no interest to me..besides: Alfheim has no forces to speak of.” It’s obvious to Loki that she doesn’t believe him. “What they have is a special kind of magic and I need that.”

“Why?”

“To attain my birthright.” Brows wrinkle in endearing confusion and Loki finds himself reaching up to smooth it away with a thumb. “You know me as a Prince of Asgard, yet I am also the rightful king of Jotunheim...a world which has been laid barren years ago at the hands of a thoughtless youngling in anguish.”

“Hah! Let me guess: you want me to believe the Alfheim-...Alfia-...the magic of these people can, what, restore that place? Yeah, good one!” Met by his silence, [Y/N] grows quiet too. Her own words echo soundlessly on her lips as she reconsiders the possibilities in world unlike the reality she used to know. “But..._if_ they can aren’t you, like, uhm...are there anyone else? Going to live there?”

“Perhaps I shall be the only inhabitant for a while, however there will always be people in search of a new home.” _People who have been cast out, abandoned by those they thought the world of._

  
  


... Reader ...

The answer you have gotten is not at all what you had expected from someone as ruthless as Loki. Invasion, kidnapping, war. Those are the qualities associated with the black haired man. Lies too...but why use something as this as a cover for his real intentions?  _It would make him seem “nicer” in my eyes, for one._ Biting your lip, the plethora of potential scenarios are dizzying and you know better than to trust him.  _But..._ a stolen glance proves little: brows furrowed over green eyes that seem fixed on a place far, far away.

“Who...” Stopping again, you reconsider how to get to the truth. “What would make anyone destroy an entire country?”

Loki’s attention snaps back to you with the force lightning, making the hairs stand on end. “Not just a country, mortal, a world. The realm of Jotunheim was the home planet of the Jötun.”

“Oh.” What else can you say?

For a second, the god seems far away, a shadow creeping over his features and a weight clinging to his shoulder, then he sighs but before he can say what’s on his mind, a handful of the mesmerizing people arrive to usher the two of you along.

Down another hallway, this one less lavishly decorated, and through a set of doors into an indoor forest. Slender trees with silvery bark stretch towards the high ceiling where a gazillion crystals hang. Gold details decorate every other branch, twinkling between the small, green leaves that make you think of spring time. As if it wasn’t breathtaking enough, the only stone on the floor is a weaving path while everything else is moss (oddly comforting in a familiarity you can’t pinpoint) and flowers of silver, white, and gold.

At the centre of this indoor glade is a mix between an altar and a bed. On it lies a figure, so skinny the cheeks are hollowed, every bone can be counted, and every vein stands clear like a mountain range. A rattling breath is the only reason you know for sure that this person is alive. _The priestess. _Your stomach rolls, threatening to spill the last meal, from the adamant certainty she is in pain.

_ Damn you, Loki. _ Of course he’s right: even with the (very likely) risk of betrayal, there’s no way you can let the poor girl suffer like this. Not when you know you can change it. His hushed encouragement is unnecessary as your hands already are coming to rest on the patient’s forehead and chest.

  
  


... Loki ...

Not a single person dares to move when [Y/N] first touches the priestess and even the Jotun finds it impossible to look away from the artful hands, feather-light as they are with the borderline caressing gesture. Soft skin. Dexterous fingers. The sight creates a longing Loki instinctively knows could change him if it ever was fulfilled, and so he is thankful for the distraction of the Älfir mumbles when the Midgardian woman begins to sing her magic. 

I t’s a soft tune, barely audible in the deadly quiet room where the priestess has been laid to either absorb the life infused in every aspect of the place...or die and return to the light from which the people of Alfheim believe they  hail. After a while a few of the elder begin to hum, weaving the little magic they might possess into that of [Y/N].  _The words...they are similar._ Yet, where Loki understands the common tongues spoken in more than the Nine Realms, this language is unknown to him and apparently the majority of the Älfir.  _How can _ _ she _ ... _ ?  _

T he spectators’ attention is eventually diverted by the visual changes in the Priestess’ countenance.  With bated breaths, they watch the return of muscles and the filling of her previously sunken facial features – the improvement to small to see from minute to minute but unmistakable after ten-fifteen minutes have passed, allowing Loki to reacquaint himself with the sweet sensation of confidence that his plan will work. 

A second feels like an hour.  Entire eternities pass before the rattling quality of the Priestess’ breathing diminishes. By then, Loki has started keeping a sharp eye on the woman making it all possible as [Y/N]’s hands have begun to tremble and her posture is increasingly hunched over.  _ She’s tiring herself out.  _

Stepping up to stand right behind her, he leans in to whisper in her ear, “I believe you have done enough.” The only response is a shake of the head, barely enough to stir a hair on her pretty head.

When the young patient’s eyelashes flutter and her skin possess the glow of her kin, [Y/N] is shaking and swaying so badly the Jotun gives in to the urge to steady her. Wrapping his arms around her waist,  he urges her to lean against her, let him support some of her weight, only to be surprised at the coolness of her body – to him, she usually feels scalding – still, clammy sweat clings to the mortal’s skin.

“Your task is complete. Stop now.” From where Loki stands, he can barely see the gentle pull of the mouth but he does notice how blown the pupils are even the few times [Y/N] manages to open her eyes completely. “I’m  _ ordering _ you to stop.”

She doesn’t. Not until the Priestess breathes in deep and opens her eyes...then finally, the Midgardian stops singing and collapses in Loki’s arms.


	7. The Reflecting God

… Loki …

The people of Midgard once revered him as the God of Chaos and Mischief and while the latter might be true he hadn’t always considered himself fitting of the former. However a sharp mind capable of thinking several steps further ahead combined with a somewhat impulsive desire could disguise even the coldest of logic and eventually Loki grew to hone his role as the unpredictable, self-serving character people viewed him as – within the confinements of his own moral code.

_Morals._

Favoured by Frigga during his upbringing, Loki had abandoned everything she had taught him when his world came tumbling down. Lashing out in anguish, he gleefully embraced the role of a monster. Wrecked havoc. Thought himself a true menace unworthy of love.

_Unworthy._

As despised and feared as the Jotun came to be, he soon found the real meaning of “monster”  in someone else  but by then it was too late to flee. Caught in a cage made of his own flesh and mind, Loki  remained standing by sheer stubbornness and twisted pride while trying to outsmart not just  the proclaimed master but himself too.

_Stubborn._

The woman lying listless is another  than last time  just like  the resting place is different too:  the Midgardian  lies o n a simple bed with dark purple covers.  T he tool he stole under the watchful eyes of the damned Avengers and Loki’s own brother who cares strongly of the mortals and their pitifully brief existences. A dullness has stolen over her skin and smothered the lustre of her hair. Her breath is shallow, barely enough to lift the chest.

_She should’ve stopped earlier._ It would’ve been the logical thing to do, to preserve enough power to keep standing. Clearly the Priestess was already well on her way to recovery and there would have been other reason to continue healing.  _Why would -? “You still have to convince me.”_ Loki’s own words ring mockingly in his mind.

“I _told_ you to seize,” he hisses at her without expecting an answer.

Lashes flutter, creating dancing shadows upon the cheekbones. “Call him...off.” The words are barely audible, and the Jotun would have missed them if not for his inhuman senses. “Don’t let...A-arox...kill them.”

_Foolish woman! _ Scared of the toll simply speaking must take, he shushes [Y/N]. “They’re safe.”

They have been all this time because Arox should still be on board the ship, having never received an order of the kind she fears. _What good would it serve me to kill them even if you did not comply?_ She would never have known for sure until the day she returned home – if that ever happened again. Of course, Loki has no intention of telling her this.

  
  


... Reader ...

The words come from far off at first. A meaningless jumble of sound that comes and goes together with your consciousness, but you know the voice and the familiarity is soothing as your body makes its mind up whether to wake or sleep.

“It was...not my proudest moment... ...emotions clouded... ..._no_ excuse...”

Finding no sense without the beginning  of the tale, you begin to pay attention to other things such as the soft matres, the scent of leaves and flowers. Something cold occasionally strokes your forehead, soothing a throbbing headache you would love to get rid of. 

Y ou almost move your hand when memories start hitting you like hail. Sharp and cold, they pierce the state you have been floating in.  _Loki._ The coldness on your skin belongs to him.  _The priestess._ You know that somehow you managed to do as the ass hole of a god wanted, the pretty elf-like alien should be alright and maybe, only maybe, your loved ones home on Earth are too.  _But someone always dies._ You remember New York and the horror Loki had brought to it.

“It _was_ my fault.” Softly spoken, you barely believe what Loki just whispered. “I allowed my rage and hatred to blind me. Perhaps I thought...it was better than the pain but I soon learned I was wrong...a theory which my so-called father confirmed even as I was hanging above the abyss.” You could be mistaken, but it sounds like your abductor’s voice is cracking. “I fell, thinking that would be it...only to find the nightmare had _just_ begun.” He pauses briefly to play with your hair. “_He_ is still coming...for the stones...for me, maybe. I cannot let him. Pray I have time, my dear. That I can rebuild Jotunheim and enough warriors will find their way there to stand against the evil that awaits.” Again, his fingers soothe your forehead, trembling slightly as the hand drifts to cup one of your cheeks. “I _must_ find somewhere you can be safe...”

A  loud knock on the door startles him and you grab the opportunity to pretend being woken up, knowing full well what Loki said hadn’t been meant for your ears. He’s glaring at the door as if he could explode it just by staring hard enough or at least guarantee silence. Of course, he isn’t successful  in either . Sighing, he glances at you as he gets up and a flicker of something warm lights up his bottle-green eyes for a split second.

“Fear not,” he urges softly before stalking to the door.

Rather than killing any of the knockers, Loki bows and moves aside to allow a veritable entourage to enter with the Priestess in the middle – though she’s not revealed before everyone begins to spread out around you in the bed and Loki who’s slipped between the many beautiful people to stand as close to you as possible. Scrambling to sit up, you are actually thankful for his nearness as he reaches out to steady you.

The Priestess steps forward, her purple eyes on you, and begins to talk.  She goes on for a while before finally stopping  to look at you expectantly.

“Allow me to summarize,” Loki offers, “she thanks you for what you’ve done and says you’re special because you possess the magic of the ancient Älfir.” Quickly he adds, “Her words, not mine. Furthermore, she says that _anything_ she and the people of Alfheim can offer is yours.”

You don’t have to look at him to know what the Asgardian wants. “ Gracious words, your...eminence. The honour is mine. My companion here is the one  to deal with practicalities, I  request that he speaks for me because I’m weary after...everything.”

I t’s not even a lie – well, maybe the “companion”-part – but otherwise it’s spot on: you only had one purpose here and  having lived up to the expectations  you are absolutely wasted in a not fun way. 

  
  


...  Loki ...

Leaving the council chambers where they had gone to discuss the options, Loki knows he ought to be happy. Elated. _Thrilled_. Still a tendril of worry, unconnected to the Älfir compensation for their Priestess’ health, keeps him from enjoying the moment of victory. His steps beat a rapid tattoo, rushing him along the hallways – their glory lost on him – until he reaches the door to the chambers [Y/N] and he have been appointed.

Slipping inside, chest heaving from something else than physical exertion, he goes as far as to toe off the boots before continuing from one room to the next_. __Good._ Curled onto her side, [Y/N] is sleeping fast. One hand clutched gently around the corner of the pillow while the other lays empty, palm upwards as though she half expects something to fill it. 

Lowering himself to sit cross legged on the floor, Loki studies the serene face carefully. A bit of life’s glow has returned to adorn the cheeks and lips (slightly parted and letting out gentle, snoring puffs of air). Behind the eyelids there is movement.  _Perhaps she’s dreaming._ It’s tempting to give in to curiosity yet he refrains.  _Let this be my one good deed towards you._

As if in silent answer, her empty hand twitches, fingers stretching towards him, and Loki now sees a furrow between the brows that deepens as the Midgardian’s body tenses. The barely audible snores from a moment ago twist into heartbreaking whimpers. _A nightmare._

Instinctively, he grasps hold, memorizing the softness of her palm against his own cold skin  and hoping against experience that his presence can bring peace for once. “ Have no fear...I won’t allow anything to harm you ever again.”

Any other assurances are silenced as [Y/N] pulls his hand close to her chest and sighs in relief, apparently content  and the monsters of her sleep have been chased away. 

The Jotun, on the other hand, sits frozen in shock as his body is taken over by a soft, warm sensation.


	8. Man That You Fear

... Reader ...

It’s taken days before you’ve regained enough strength to walk to the hallway and another few before you manage to make it all the way to the tree room (flanked by a handful of Älfir guards) where the priestess once again awaits you. Wandering among the silvery trees, she doesn’t say much to you, she just smiles like there’s some secret joke no one has let you in on.

Loki’s standing by the fireplace when you return, one handing resting on the soft curves of the mantel piece and the neck bend as if he’s studying the flames which have a purple tint that somehow gets swallowed in the blackness of his hair. _Uhoh._ You have lost count how long it is since the Asgardian abducted you and even if it might not be more than a few months, you already know from the tension in his shoulders and the knuckles, white from clenching his fists, that you are in trouble.

Even the flames seem to freeze at the sound of his cold voice. “I thought I told you the rules.”

Cold, yes, but it’s the softness that scares you. “They came to fetch me while you were aw-”

“And you went with them!”

The room is getting colder or maybe, you think, it’s the panic rising in your lungs that makes it feel that way.

“They...I...” Each word is visible as a puff of breath, a cloud hanging in the darkening room. “I was afraid they’d be _angry_ if I _didn’t_!”

_Freezing!_ Not only is the cold real – seeping into your bones and prickling your nose and eyes – a layer of frost is spreading from Loki’s hand by the fireplace, quickly  oozing across any surface and smothering the fire with a wet hiss. And your captor? He is nothing like you ever had expected when he turns to face you at long last.  The always pale skin appears to have been touched by the cold too, adopting the cool colours of winter which stand in stark contrast to his eyes: cast in shadows, the darkness practically fuses with them and makes a redness in the irises glow like embers, smouldering, just waiting to burn down the world.

“Don’t fear _their_ anger,” he hisses.

A spark of your own ignites, driving you headfirst down a path of stupidity and stubbornness. “You want me to fear _you_? I fear what you might do to others but _no!_ I will not fear for my _own_ life just so you can feel aall _mighty_ and _powerful_! If you wanna kill me, then bloody _do_ it!”

You might as well have slapped him. Startled at your fury, Loki steps back and now you see that his eyes are as they always have been – a deep, ever-changing green – and the cold is gone just as abruptly with only the melting ice on the walls and floor to prove it was ever there.

“I don’t- _no_-no!” He sighs, pinching the brow sharply. “It is not my intention to harm you...even if you can be frustrating. No. It’s...the _Älfir _are, for the moment, our allies...but...” he finally looks to you, pleading almost -”their desires are fickle and so are their allegiance. If a great threat were to present itself it’s more than likely they will side with him and forsake their former friends.”

_Conspiracies_ _ and fear mongering._ You had expected more of a god. “ _If_ a -”

“He _is_ coming.” Stepping right up to you, Loki grabs your by the upper arms – gently but insistently. “Already, whispers are hailing the changes he will bring. _Mad_, he is...and more dangerous than you can ever imagine.”

You know that look in the Asgardian’s face, recognize the tremor in his voice. _He’s faking,_ the logic voice in your mind tries to convince you but the argument falls flat because all you’ve ever heard about this man is that he never shows any weakness. Another ruse and you might have fallen for it without question.

“You’re..._afraid_ of it. Of him.”

Gobsmacked, you watch the tall man pull himself together and try to brush it off. Letting go as if he has burned himself, Loki scoffs at the notion. Pacing the room, which you have seen him do every day, he begins to talk about the fragility of various empires and alliances through a history you never have heard of before. His hands steady themselves with simple actions such as pouring wine for the both of you, scratching an itch in his palm.

_No, I won’t let you._ “Don’t deny it! Who’s coming?”

“Answer me first...” His back is turned, but you know his lips are pressed together into a thin line. “What did you say or do while with the Priestess?”

_Fine, stubborn mule._ “We walked.  I n the room with the trees and altar.” Sighing  and closing your eyes , you try to recall any conversation however one sided it must have been. “She...said some things but of course I didn’t understand and I kept telling her  _that._ She seemed happy anyways. Just held my hand as we kept walking about...”

Something cold touches under your chin, tilting your head up. Surprised at the sudden contact, you look and stare straight into the depths of Loki’s gaze. He’s so close you can smell the scent of flint and snow on him, and for a millisecond you imagine brushing your lips against his to find out if he tastes the same way.

“You’re telling the truth.” He lets go, leaving you standing with nothing to lean on for moral and emotional support. “Fine...you want the truth? Then you shall have it.”


	9. Irresponsible Hate Anthem

… Reader …

At least Loki has allowed  you to sit down, and good thing too considering that today is the most you’ve done since pushing yourself and your limits by healing the priestess.  He has also brought you something to drink and some grape-like fruits. All in all: he is procrastinating and it’s making you awfully nervous.

“Loki.” The god scurries off to fetch you a blanket. “Loki!” you call after him. “Just get your ass back here and start talking!”

Whirling towards you, his jaw clenches and eyes darken with fury...but he stops himself and does as asked. “This is the last time I will allow such insubordination, mortal.”

“_Fine._” Ramping up the sarcasm, you clasp your hands and plead, “Oh, mighty _Lo_ki. Best_ow_ your wisdom upon me!”

Silence stretches. If he hadn’t been completely stone faced then you might have feared you’d gone too far. As it is, however, the Asgardian simply sighs. _He and the others...they should be __im__mortal but he looks old now._ A smidgen of discomfort wiggles into your chest, sending tendrils out to legs and arms with the urge to fidget, to tap an unsteady rhythm with a foot, anything to ease the tension you are feeling. At the same time, a self-empowering annoyance is nudging your mind from the other side in an attempt to point out the next issue. _I should not feel sorry. He’s a bad guy._

“There are influencing factors to the events that have led to this point.” Loki speaks softly despite a strain to his voice that tells you he is holding back. “In a manner, of all this started many thousand years ago by your time...but what is of relevance to you is the understanding of _why_ your realm was beset by the Chitauri under my command. Who I served by doing as I did.”

“It...it wasn’t your decision?” The wine in your glass is sloshing subtly so you set it down with a clatter.

The g reen gaze wanders from hands to face, wordlessly binding you to anything he is about to say. “I did not propose it...but I did not oppose it.” Sighing again, he shrugs. “Explain ing why will take more time than we have available.  S uffice to say that I found myself in the questionable service of a being, an entity, called Thanos.  The  _Mad Titan,_ is another  of his  moniker s ...and quite descriptive too.”

“Titan? Like...Greek myth titan?”

“...no. I would almost suppose the Midgardian titans of old would be preferable. Thanos is powerful in more ways than you can imagine and my fear is that his plan is much worse than even _I_ suspect. Wherever he goes, only half of the population survives to struggle through a ravaged realm, slowly dying from the blows he has dealt them.”

_Liar!_ “But Earth survived! You didn’t even kill half of  _New York_ , and now you want to tell me there’s a dude that could end half a planet worth of people? Pfft!”

Loki’s cold hands wrap around your fingers. “Don’t be foolish. Conquering Mi- Earth was not his main objective but a bit of fun to test the strength of the forces, the defences.” Hesitating, he focuses briefly on the way he has grasped your hands. “What Thanos wanted – and still wants – from your realm is an object with immense power. That object, the Tessaract, is one of six and all together they will make him unstoppable.” 

“The Avengers stopped you...him,” you try slowly, “they’d caught you. So...you didn’t get that...Tessa-thing to him. Right?”

“No, Thanos does _not_ have the Tessaract,” he agrees before meeting your gaze again, “but he will try again. And he will have me hunted down for leaving his side...for failing him.”

There was a time, when someone claiming the epitome of evil from space would arrive to ransack the Earth  they  would be considered clinically insane.  The p roblem is that  e very human watched the news footage from New York  and  saw the aliens pour out of the sky to follow Loki.  _Can there be someone worse than him?_ It stings to admit it, but you don’t doubt for a second it’s possible.

L ooking to the god, you fight to keep the fear at bay. “We gotta warn them!”

“They have been and they _are_ preparing.” He still holds your hands, grounding you in an inexplicable way. “After having fought the Chitauri, the heroes of Earth know what’s at stake.” 

It’s all too much – w orn out from the walking, dazed by the information, and frustrated with the situation you’re in  – you slump into the seat in silent despair. “ Then ...but...nowhere’s safe?”

He draws you in by wrapping an arm around you and you don’t even care to bother about it. Of the two evils seemingly available, Loki is by far the lesser if he is telling the truth.

“One. One place might be safe for you although...it’s a long shot,” the god mutters into your hair.

  
  


...  Loki ...

Night has fallen, enveloping the temple in velvety silence. Watching from the balcony, Loki sees the lights of the guards’ lanterns follow the same predictable pattern as always and he knows that for the moment, his frail mortal will be safe, so he retreats to the shadows of one of their rooms to use the Tessaract once again.

When the blue haze releases him, it’s into a cold world under the grey light of dawn. Crystalline particles are shoved around by gusts of wind, worn from the rock and ice that covers the ground as far as his eyes can see.  Admittedly, the view is rather impeded by craggy cliffs to three sides and crumbling ruins to the other, but the Jotun knows what awaits him past the remnants of the civilization that dwelt here.  _My people. _ Scoffing at the thought, he stalks towards the open. 

B etween the castle ruins and  t he very precipice  of a deep canyon stands a circle of Alfheim’s druids hand in hand along the precarious edge. Where Loki’s hair is whipping around his face, his cloak tangling in itself and his limbs, the Älfir seem untouched by the raging of the cold elements.  _At least none of us are freezing,_ a thought jeers in his mind. 

Only as Loki comes to stand behind them can he hear the song. It’s almost as though he can see the words through the corner of his eye like a shimmer dropping into the darkness below but there is nothing to see when he focuses: no sign of the magic...and no indication that the efforts are working.

Crouching, fingers digging into the icy snow, a part of the god seeks to tether itself with the realm he came from. He can feel it. Or rather, he can’t.  T he frozen core should echo the songs of the Jötun  of forgotten ages , reduced to a whisper before he himself silenced them forever.  T here is nothing. For a week now, the Älfir have done as promised and poured their living magic into the deadly wound Jotunheim suffered yet despite the constants efforts nothing has changed. 

_It is a lost cause._ Loki knew from the beginning this was a possibility. Not all damage can be undone. Not all wounds heal. 

_This was never my home!_ Then how come an icy splinter which has been gnawing at his heart now grows and digs its own canyons until, with a painful snap, something breaks? Screaming out his rage, the agonized howl is swallowed by the wind, echoed by the haunting echoes from the depths below.

  
  


...  Reader ...

You’re not sure what has woken you up. Lying perfectly quiet, the song of nightingale – maybe, you don’t really know what sort of bird it is – floats in through the open window and almost lulls you to sleep again.

_Wait..._ there it is, the sound that doesn’t belong. Sitting up, it takes a moment before you figure out which direction the staccato creaks and huffs come from and you’re in two minds about what to do when you recognize the universal sound of a sob  that someone attempts to stifle. 

_Loki? _

There’s no doubt it’s him.  _H_ _e’ll kill me, if he realizes I’ve heard this._


	10. Leave a Scar

… Reader …

Two days later and you’re still praying that Loki has no idea what you’ve heard even if the chances seem remote. He’s grown quiet. Brooding. Most of the time he’s off somewhere without you but when he returns he finds a secluded corner and a carafe of wine to wash down his gloominess with.

_He’s plotting how to kill me._ It makes sense – haven’t you done what he wanted you to? The talk about keeping you safe must have been nothing but a ruse to eventually break your spirit completely before delivering the final blow. On the other hand, it seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to if he was just going to waste the effort by being emo.  _Plotting to kill someone else?_ Now, that would make sense considering his track record. 

On and on your thoughts run in circles and not even the beautiful view from the balcony can provide enough of a distraction today.

“Tell me, mortal.” His voice startles you, coming from right behind you. “What’s plaguing your mind, hmm?”

There’s nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from those piercing, green eyes boring into the back of your skull. Pulling at the sleeves of the purple dress (kindly lend to you by the Älfir), you consider how to out-lie a liar.

“What...what is going to happen now?” you manage to ask, forcing your voice past a lump in your throat.

The sigh that fans your shoulder is  chilling . “It seems I have to change my plans.”

Unsure of anything, this isn’t what you had expected. Turning to wards him, the somberness clings to his  face and cuts his already sharp features from ice. Only now do you realize that there had been a spring in his step and a softness to his gaze a short week ago but since then something has extinguished the light.

Your hand twitches as you restrain yourself from reaching out to stroke his cheek. “What’s happened?”  _Did he see that? _

If he did, nothing in his demeanour divulges  anything as Loki steps as close as he can without  the mossy greens  of his clothing  brushing against purple. A thousand worlds could come and go that second and you  woul d never have noticed because the Asgardian’s presence is all-encompassing, sucking you into his personal vortex of pride and pain, stubbornness and deference. 

“Why would you care what _has_ happened?” His words are cold like blades of ice, but this time you see through it and wait him out. He resigns. “The Älfir’s magic is not strong enough. They cannot restore Jotunheim.” _Deflated. _

“If they could’ve then they would’ve healed the Priestess too.” Biting your tongue off suddenly feels like a really good idea. 

The silence is oppressing, drawing out the seconds as the man looks you over as if you just dropped from the moon.  _L_ _ike he’s seeing me for the first time._ The sensation is far from comforting,  something that’s enhanced as the thin lips begin to curve into a crooked smile revealing white teeth. 

“_You _did that.” Man, you hate the way he practically purrs.

“Barely.” You step backwards, bumping into a pillar.

Even now, you can’t help but notice how smoothly he moves as he follows in your footsteps. “But you _did_.”

Somehow managing to sidestep the god, you make it two steps into the shade of the room before his hands have gotten hold and you’re twirled, forced against the cold wall.

“Don’t -”

“Shush.” He places a cold finger on your lips, making you comply automatically. “We _all_ have sacrifices to make.”

A smidgen of logic in the back of your skull is screaming at you to shut up, to let him have this victory while you figure out a way to get out of the situation. Of course you don’t listen to it, deciding instead to pull yourself up to your full height (as unimpressive as it may be compared to Loki) and glare at him. There’s even a moment there where you impress yourself by how calm your voice is when you answer.

“_No._ I won’t be your puppet anymore.” Black eyebrows shoot upwards at your words. “And if you kill me, at least I know _you’ll_ still be crying every night.”

That’s the instant the sense of heroic pride dies.

The emerald eyes you secretly admire change into a sea of blood  while a flood of blue, broken by ridges and lines cover what skin you can see and caus es you to gasp, drawing in air so cold you can feel the lungs crackle in complaint. If at least Loki would snarl or growl, then it would somehow make sense, but he just smiles, the white teeth suddenly similar to the fangs of a predator.  _A wolf...and I’m the lamb._

“Mortal. Pet.” A claw traces along your cheekbone before scraping down your throat. “I thought we were coming to an understanding? You would obey my every wish in return for the life of those you love?” Nodding is the only option. “Tsk tsk. Perhaps I have underestimated you, wench, thinking you had a _soul_, a _heart_. Hoping you would recognize real evil when held up against the light of truth.”

_Well...I’m already doomed. “_ You told a  _story_ -!”

“A _story_?!” This time he does snarl. “I’ll show you story!”

The cold of his hands burn the skin on your forehead, wrist, and palm as he slams your hand against his brow and mirrors the movement.

  
  


... Loki ...

The first glimpses are simple until the events fully  un fold.  Falling –  he will hate the sensation forever . Falling through nothingness for half an eternity until he lands more dead than alive...except this time he’s watching it from the outside.  _We’re watching it._ Though the Jotun can’t see it, he knows that [Y/N] is there with him, a spectator without the option to look away when the actor is found and brought to the Titan. 

What were months or maybe years at the mercy of Thanos and his Children flash by in a few minutes, perhaps. Torture, mind games, hatred twisted and turned until it points back to the outcast prince and penetrates his soul,  leaving it  to fester  before he finally succumbs to the touch of a sceptre. From there the events unfold in a blur only occasionally brought into focus when a part of the fallen god tries to rebel against the shackles. 

It’s only when the Loki they watch is lying at the feet of the Avengers that clarity is fully restored, though one kind of shackles is replaced by another. Then: a speck of blue  grants an opportunity impossible to dismiss.

A vision. A memory. A nightmare.

Loki’s hands fall to his sides.  _ It’s over. _ The wall in the Älfir temple looks less real than what [Y/N] and the Jotun have just witnessed, but the wide eyes staring up at him brings reality back like a kick in the balls.  _ She knows. _ Everyone knows when they witness the recollections of someone else – no amount of so called rational thinking can convince them they have hallucinated because they feel it as if they lived it themselves.

“[Y/N]...”

Tears are welling in her eyes, lips quivering as she tries to root herself in the present. “He...y-you...”  _ What I wouldn’t do to take away your pain.  _ “That was -” A sniffle interrupts her.

He hates it. Hates the despair she’s drowning in at his hands.  Truly, he has proven to be the monster he claimed not to be. Losing control and forcing [Y/N] through this nightmare serves no purpose  at all. 

“I will...I will ensure your safety and then you will never hear from me again,” he promises shamefully, “now...get some rest.”

...

Flat on his back and with the hands behind his head, Loki’s gaze is fixed on a point far beyond the ceiling above. Dawn is nearing yet sleep has evaded him,  chased away by memories and guilt.  _It served no purpose._ Priding himself  of his logic, the turmoil raging inside his heart is has pushed the Jotun to act rashly and he hates it because he wishes to be more than a beast that simply lashes out when cornered. He doesn’t want to be the monster he behaved like. No, the man in him has to find a way to -

“Loki?” The whisper is hesitant, almost too quiet to hear. “Are you...are you awake?”

He sits up, bare feet on the stone floor as if to ground himself. The covers slides from his chest, revealing the pale skin in the darkness but [Y/N] probably can’t see it with her human eyes as she stands in the doorway.

Draped in the soft-flowing silk from a borrowed shift, she could almost pass for one of the ghosts from the fanciful tales children enjoy to fear. Loki can see her better than that. He can see her face straining as she tries to find him in the dark, and her arms wrapped tightly around the ribs below her bosom perhaps to find some comfort.

“Yeah...I’m awake,” the god rasps softly in return. _I__s that regret or relief in your sigh?_

Sitting there, waiting for the unknown, a tension begins to permeate the air and send tendrils to every nerve ending of Loki’s body. A coil tightens in his chest and it becomes nearly unbearable when [Y/N] tentatively walks towards him, her feet careful as they seek out the right path. A few steps before the goal, her hands reach out to locate the Jotun and he has taken them before thinking to stop himself.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, the mortal braves the silence. “This doesn’t mean we’re okay, but...I believe you now.”

“[Y/N] -”

“Shut up.” He does. “I’m trying to say that...that I get it a-and I trust you.”

Loki has no answer. Gaping slightly at her, he tries to come to terms with the woman’s foolishness. Once or twice a sentence nearly forms in his mind only to dissolve before it can be uttered and the task increases in difficulty as she shyly shifts her weight from one leg to the other, toes intertwining as best they can while she bites her lip.

He obviously startles her as he stands. _Yet you don’t run, my dear?_ A shiver rolls through her the moment he embraces the lithe form.

“Oh! Oh, we’re...hugging? Okay, we can hug,” she babbles, unknowingly making the god smile into her hair.

It’s impossible to say how long they stand like this or when [Y/N]’s warm fingertips start  a  slow dance across his naked back. Then again, time hardly matters as the Jotun pulls back enough to study her face, smelling her hectic breath that fans against his skin.

“Thank you,” he says, but means _I think I love you,_ “you should rest.”

Her hands retreat, and right away Loki misses the scalding touch and the heat of her body as she navigates the darkness to find her own bed.


	11. Disassociative

... Reader ...

Refusing to give up hope, Loki waits a few days more before finally accepting there’s nothing the Älfir can do to fix Jotunheim and so the two of you will “take your leave”, as he puts it. You have a theory at least the druids who have been on the job quite like the decision even if they and everyone else make pouting faces and cooing noises.

“They’re unhappy to see you leave,” your companion scoffs, “they even intend to throw a feast.”

_ Jealous it’s not because of you? _ “That’s sweet of them.  When...? ”

“Tomorrow.”

...

An entire host of giggling Älfir have been entertaining themselves at your expense during the afternoon. Well, you say “expense” but honestly you’ve been enjoying the pampering and (literally) otherworldly beauty treatments even if it was a bit much at time s – you certainly didn’t appreciate when they attempted to colour you r hair.  _All_ your hair. Eventually, they accepted  the boundaries and as they study you now, it seems the group is pleased with the results because the y laugh and smile and clap their hands as they lead you to the gilded mirror.

_Oh wow._ Somehow, they’ve managed to pick  a strapless dress with a figure hugging bodice where magic must be involved to keep the few layers of silk in place, silk that flows down into a short train on the back while the front sports a dangerously high slit  splitting along your left thigh when you walk  ( barefoot like all the Älfir you’ve seen) .  The dress is gorgeous.  Revealing,  but in a tasteful way which would make any person with eyes ogle the wearer and you just know  how Loki will appreciate the  golden  colour  scheme with moss-green details .

“I can’t wear this!”_ He can’t see me like this!_

But the Älfir don’t understand you – or they pretend they can’t – and usher you along down the hallways and through half the temple until you reach a terrace overlooking the landscape bathing in the descending sun.

Several people have already gathered and you recognize some as higher ranking druids and acolytes. Near the banister at the other side of a long table (decked with crystal and silver) stand the Priestess and Loki, the latter has his back turned towards the entrance but she sees you. Arching a purple eyebrow, the smirk she flashes seems to be one of approval which is nice...but it’s not _her_ reaction you’re worrying about.

Someone, a chocolate-eyed male wearing the colours of the attendants, distracts you by offering a tall glass of something fizzy with slices of fruit in it and you have no way to tell him that your stomach’s one big knot of nerves and it will be impossible to get anything down! By the time he leaves, he’s bowed at least thrice and is smiling from ear to ear. Following him with your eyes, you see the rolling hills with dots of groves and splashes of forests stretching towards the ocean in the distance, and you don’t even notice it when you walk across the sun-heated stones to the edge of the terrace. _What a view!_ Clear colours as far as you can see. 

To think that Earth once was like this before humans started building huge, grey boxes of concrete and...you hesitate, accepting there probably never has been another place like Alfheim.  _And _ _maybe _ _I’ll never see this beauty again._ The awaited departure is bittersweet. Unable to communicate, you haven’t exactly made friends with anyone but there has been nothing but kindness woven into each interaction. 

“Hrm.” A familiar presence announces itself behind you. “It’s time to be seated.”

You can feel the heat in your cheeks when you turn, allowing Loki to guide you to the appropriate spot by the table  where you m anag e to suppress a groan  because  you find yourself  placed  between him and the Priestess.  _This’ll be a looooong dinner._

It is. Thankfully, it’s not as awkward as you had feared.

When the stars have come out, trying to outshine the moons on the inky sky and their light refracted in tall crystals spread haphazardly across the table and terrace, you feel happy for a moment. Bulging plates of fruit are still left for people to nibble from (to keep the drinks company) but most of the Älfir have left to do whatever it is magical, druidic aliens do at this hour.

You don’t mind. No one is talking to you (the Priestess is long gone and Loki is distracted by someone else), and the quiet is welcome as you wander across the still warm stone tiles to have a peek at the moat and the flowering bushes below near the temple walls. _No one will believe me when I tell them about this place._ The annoying voice in the back of your mind is bitching at you to use “if” rather than “when” but is silenced easily – probably calmed by the serenity of the place. Right now, this moment under the otherworldly sky, there is no noise to disturb you. No meaningless chatter or worries. In fact...there’s no chatter at all. 

Turning slightly to look, you see only Loki left  now .  A glass of wine cradled between the long fingers.  Hi s  s harp gaze fixed on you.  In the sparse light, the god is stunning beyond the beauty of the Älfir while never losing the  calculative darkness  which you used to find sinister. Rather than being threatening, the eyes glinting in the firelight are hypnotic and you have to look away to avoid getting lost in them completely.

...  Loki ...

_S_ _ly shrew._ There  was no doubt in the god’s mind who  he  want ed to blame for the predicament. The lavish attention bestowed upon both himself and [Y/N], the saying gleam in the Priestess eyes, and not least of all the seating arrangement during the feast which the Midgardian  was and i s blissfully unaware of:  t o the Älfir, their visitors are a couple.  And as Loki watche d the light shimmer on the frustrating, golden dress? He should have corrected the mistake discreetly, but ended up not saying anything at all.

P erhaps it is a part of  [Y/N]’s magic that unnotic eably soothes the ache of a damaged soul and glues the pieces of broken hearts together. Or, the Jotun admits, perhaps it is he who has simply been smitten by her personality, amused by the stubbornness to the point where even that becomes a charm.  _Either way...I’m a changed man. She’s taming the monster I was and then what will I be?_ It hardly matters as long as it’s something she will be proud to see.

S etting the glass aside, he comes to stand behind [Y/N]. She doesn’t shy away, not even as he softly lays a hand on her shoulder and steps closer to share the view she’s admiring. 

“You have done well, pet.” The words vex him as they aren’t what he truly wants to say. “If you...want to stay here rather than continue then I shall arrange it for you.”

A weight nestles in his chest and his eyes are unseeing while waiting for the woman’s reply. Underneath his hand, her warm shoulder stills  together  with her breath before slowly relaxing  and it almost feels as though she’s leaning into his touch despite the improbability of such an action.

“It _is_ beautiful here,” [Y/N] admits, making Loki’s hopes plummet, “but I’d be lonely and restless. There’s so _much more_ to see out there.”

Finally daring a glance, her  profile out-dazzles the stars beyond,  challenging him not to forget his place. “If that’s your choice -” he tears himself away from the breathtaking vision- “let us get some rest...we’ll leave at dawn.”

H e is painfully aware of the woman’s warm presen ce as they walk side by side to the chambers and when they part, bidding goodnight in hushed voices, the absence is solidified by the cool as it slowly steal back into his body.


	12. Running to the Edge of the World

... Loki ...

“Are you _out_ of your _goddamn MIND?!_”

The Midgardian’s outrage surprises Loki as much as it amuses him, two  emotions he keeps close to his chest especially now they are back aboard the ship where Arox has been waiting impatiently. The brute’s kind are made for action, be it fighting or merriment, not for sitting around alone. Thankfully, the warrior has accepted added payment in form of hard liquor and has resigned to his cabin for now.

Turning to glare at [Y/N], the Asgardian schools his features. “Watch it, wench.” Of course she balks at the moniker but he stops her quickly. “Enough! You know very well my plans for Jotunheim have failed. If the only means of guaranteeing your safety _and_ that of the rest of the realms then this is the path we must take. At least the old fool can be guided by playing at his pride.”

Refocusing on the instruments of the cockpit, he can already he ar the next inhalation fuelling her. Of course, having grown more comfortable in each others’ presence she must now be seeking to push the boundaries between them and Loki cannot in all honesty claim that he doesn’t like the challenge already although it exposes him too.

“Sure. Yeah. Right. Except there’s the part you showed me where he chose to have you fall into space rather than acknowledge your part of the family.”

“They’re _not_ my family.”

“Thor still refers to you as a brother.”

Finally reaching a limit, he pounces at [Y/N], driving her against the steel wall. “He’s a _fool_ for believing the fairy tales Odin spun when we were children! And so are _you_, giving credit to empty claims. Mark my words: there’s _no love_ between Asgard and me as I am a _monster_ of their own making, a twisted prince they seek to _cage!_”

She does flinch but refuses to draw back from Loki’s shouting, instead squaring her stance and crossing the arms. “ So I repeat. Why? Go? There?”

_I can think of no other place where you might be safe._ “Odin may be dusty and old, but the Asgardian forces are formidable.”

“What good will that do you if you’re stuck in a cell?” she retorts hotly.

Her chest is heaving, brushing against his whenever she inhales particularly deeply. Each movement stirs the air with the soapy scent she has adopted while on Alfheim  and it goes straight to the god’s brain to shortcut any reasonable thinking. Gone is the train of thought. What were they arguing about? Does it even matter as long as she will remain this feisty? 

Closing his eyes to focus, his old mannerisms come to save him. “Worried, hmm? Have you come to  _care_ , pet?”  Loki can hear her stutter and it makes him grin wickedly. “Fret not, my dear, I will make sure you don’t have to go a  single  day without me.”

  
  


...  Reader ...

Alfheim has quite possibly spoiled your expectations of space, or maybe you have managed to repress the memory of how it is to be stuck in a metal box surrounded by nothing. At least you’re no longer confined to just the cabin but after the immediate thrill has worn off...well, there’s only so much to see onboard the space ship.

Arox is having trouble accepting the shift in dynamics and is more often than not hovering nearby with a menacing look on his face while he sharpens his knives (in your eyes they might be swords) or follows the deep patterns in his skin with a finger across the muscles.  Any attempt at talking with him leads nowhere.  Thankfully, the moments alone with  the brute are brief, cut short by Loki.

You  catch the two men talk one evening. Unable to sleep, you’re w a ndering the narrow corridors on bare feet  and hear t heir voices drift down the stairs from the cockpit. Quiet ly . Controlled to the point that there’s an edge to their voices. It’s  upon hearing your name, however, that you stop.  Not every word is clear enough to make out, leaving your mind free to generate a wealth of scenarios spelling doom for you,  but as Arox’s heavy stomps come nearer there’s no way you’re gonna stay to find out what the conversation really was about and you flee to your cabin.

You get the answer a day or two later when you find Loki in the captain’s chair.

“We’re docking at nowhere soon. Get dressed.” His eyes are fixed on the instrument.

Your eyes are stuck on the giant structure looming against the endlessness of space ahead of the ship.  _It alm-...is that a head?_ Whatever it is, something tells you  it’ s a rough place, the kind where the  villains in movies would come wearing  sturdy boots and leather jackets to drink some horribly unhealthy kind of moonshine liquor while making shady deals.

“Is’t safe?” you blurt before thinking.

There’s a warmth to Loki’s chuckle that you don’t remember from the first days onboard. “Stick close to me, don’t talk, and don’t touch anything,” he smirks wickedly, “then it  _might_ be.” 

O n a scale from one to ten of things you were dreading to hear? A solid seven.  _Seven and a half_ .  Still, you do as the Asgardian tells you, deciding that staying behind on the ship (alone or with Arox) would be worse.

Stepping out onto a metallic surface, you’re pleased that the air is breathable even if you would have given anything you had for it to not be smellable. The stench of sweat, rust, and much more is heavy in the air, making your eyes sting and your gag-reflex  squirm . Arox doesn’t seem to mind – he just nods at Loki before trudging off – and the god is as stony faced as ever.  Barking an order at a  spiky alien, he simply motions for you to keep up as he strides towards the bustling crowd away from the docking area.

U nlike on Alfheim, where the Älfir clearly was the dominant species, there are barely two beings that look the same in this place and only 50% of them fall into the category of humanoids.  Hurrying to keep pace with Loki, you have to weave in and out of the steady stream of foot traffic (again, “foot” seems to be a very lose definition) whereas the god carries on in a straight line. Head held high and a grim smile plastered on his face, everyone lets him pass.  _Do they realize they move aside?_ If they do, you would love for them to show you the same courtesy. 

Momentarily side swept by two moving quarries, panic grips you when you can’t spot the one person you’re depending on. _I would’ve leapt at a chance like this before Alfheim._ Now, you hold your breath and break into a mad dash from fear of being separated. Passing ramshackle stalls and open doors leading to places with coloured lights, music, and noise the world around you is reduced to a blur, your senses strained for one task only. _Where the fuck did he go?_

You come to a halt where the street splits in two: the right-hand alley is leading down towards what might be a part of town with workshops rather than  bars , the left lane leads upwards and is fringed by bright lanterns.

No Loki. Instead, as you turn around frantically, you come face to face with Arox.


	13. (s)AINT

... Reader ...

Alarm bells are blaring, drowning out any logical thinking and leaving you frozen like a deer in headlights. The headlights, better known as Arox, loom over you. An alcoholic musk rolls off him, stirred by the movement of flexing arms as he hooks the thumbs in the belt.

“You’re lost,” he rumbles. Trying to swallow the dryness in your mouth, you begin to object but don’t get further than to opening the mouth. “Not safe for you alone.”

This time you don’t manage to dodge him and feel a swoop in your belly as your feet leave the ground. Perhaps a yelp escapes you. Probably, considering the surprise at suddenly being perched on the muscle man’s shoulder with a neat view over the area.

“You see Loki?” Arox is slowly turning on the spot.

Too surreal to question, your mind lamely follows the unspoken order and starts searching.  _Where are you?_ For once, the Asgardian might not be the tallest  around and there are so many different people (or creatures) milling about and dodging in and out of semi-rusty buildings.  Anything black and pale that moves catches your attention out of the corner of the eye only to let you down when you get a clear view  of whoever it is .  _Perhaps it’s best to go back to the shi- _

“There!” You point towards a stall about halfway back the way you came from.

The knot in your guts dissolves into butterflies  ( which you decide are from relief ) . Being lost on a foreign planet- head-thing is far from appealing even if Arox has decided to help.  Right now, he’s  stomping down the street the way you pointed without bothering to put you down first. Very few  passerbys don’t  get out of the way and most of those can be excuse d by a physiology incompatible with fast movement. 

L oki is standing with his arms crossed, waiting for you to be stood before him  which Arox elegantly assures . There’s something mingling with the annoyance  in the god’s eyes , an urgency you can’t put your finger on.

“Thank you, A-” turning to the man, you find he’s already swallowed by the crowd, “-rox...oh.” _I’ll thank him later, I guess._

The god’s nearness is a presence of cold behind you, waiting to creep into your bones and weigh you down without  leaving you the power to struggle against it. Swallowing hard, you have to force yourself to face him. His eyes are hard like stone, only  that flicker of something deep within – rage, you guess – that disappears before you’re certain it really was there  at all .

“I _told_ you to stay close, did I not? Mortal?” he sneers.

A demure nod and downcast  gaze . It’s not like you wanted to get separated...but you also know it isn’t the moment to argue the point. 

It’s hard to get your bearings in a world that includes Loki. The ruthlessness and evil he radiated at first ha s started to melt away during the days on Alfheim to a point where you could make yourself believe he cared or at the very least was something closer to human. Could someone like him truly bother about someone like you?  _No._ But the brief stay on the  utopi an planet granted a glimpse of gentleness. 

_Who am I kidding?!_ Loki. The Trickster. God of Chaos and Mischief. It’s probably a part of some plan, a great scheme where your part as a pawn requires a level of free will. T hat would be simpler to believe: a Stockholm  S yndrome, carefully made possible by the captor.  _Now I just have to believe that._

The tall man sighs and clasps a hand on your shoulder. “Better keep you close.”  And like that the two of you walk on.

You're simultaneously terrified and thrilled as you walk next to the tall man down the metallic roads. He's trying his best to explain the races you see and the story behind the place which, as suspected, isn't a planet at all. Most names slip your memory the moment Loki has said them – too foreign to register as more than exotically new.

"But...they're so  _ different! _ " Clearly used to the diversity, your exclamation only makes the god chuckle softly. " _ Man, _ Earth's gonna be boring after this."

"Considering how badly the Midgardians are at coexisting...perhaps it's for the better."

Groaning inwardly, you just know that all the snappy comebacks hiding right now will come back to haunt you when you lie in your bed but a raucous laughter coming from up ahead serves to save you the embarrassment of gaping like a fish to Loki’s face.

Next second the god has wrapped a chilling hand around your fingers and drags you down the nearest alley, somehow squeezing the both of you into a tiny gap between a dumpster (judging by the smell and goo seeping from it) and the wall.

“What’re -?” A cold clasps over your mouth, silencing the demand for an explanation.

There’s barely room to breathe unless the point is to squish your chest harder against Loki’s lithe form, and you’re appreciative of the fact that his attention is on the people on the street.

Whatever language they speak is foreign to you, but the tone of voice makes the small hairs on your body stand up because that’s the leer of bullies. And if bullies are bad enough for a god to ch o ose hiding by the smelly trash? Yeah... _not good_ . 

A s if to prove the point, one of the people laughing breaks off to yell, then then you he ar the wet thump of something (or someone) falling followed by cries of shock and more devious cackling. 

  
  


...  Loki ...

They’re much too close for comfort, and though Loki can’t see them from here, he knows Thanos’ lackeys are lingering at the alley mouth to jibe at whomever they have subjected to their violence. _And to think I was willing to lower myself to their level._ A chill runs down the god’s spine at the memory.

Asgardians and Jötun may not truly be immortal, however their lifespan is impressive enough to reduce hours to  seconds , years to hours. It’s  sobering – the silent creeping as  time extends into half  an  eternit y until the voices finally draw away and Loki can breathe freely again. Blinking, he notices the surroundings properly for the first time. The closeness of the space. The softness of [Y/N]’s skin against his palm that has moved from her mouth to cradle her cheek. Only his thumb still rests on the plump lower lip. He can’t help himself but brush the pad of that finger  gent ly along and up to brush away a single tear fallen from the fearful eyes.

“They’re gone now,” he whispers, “you’re safe.” His heart aches as it threatens to split with his blatant lies. 

It’s easy to hide behind the task ahead, though he dares not let go of the Midgardian’s shoulder once they return to the original path.  T he adrenaline is thrumming through the veins, creating oceans in his ears that drowns out all but the nearest voices as they walk.  A wildfire of scenarios had blossomed in Loki’s mind the moment he realized the Midgardian was gone yet fear kept him rooted. Dread kept him from razing the place to the ground in the effort to find her.  And now this.

_What have you done to me, mortal?_


	14. Snake Eyes and Sissies

...  Loki ...

A nudge of a finger, a tap by the thumb, is all that’s needed to turn [Y/N]’s steps to thread an invisible route down the street. Every step she takes se nds a bump into his palm. Whenever she sidesteps to avoid colliding with someone (who receives a harsh glare from Loki afterwards),  it  tugs at his body and he knows that he follows as much as he leads.  A cross a catwalk and into a lower section of Knowhere until they reach the destination in the shape of a secluded workshop  with the owner’s name as the only identifier .  Finally, Loki dares let go and he’s pleased to see she keeps close  even as he pushes the door open and they’re met with stale air carrying the scents of hot metal and smoke.

“No credits. Only trades.” The creaky voice calls out sharply from behind a heap of scrap on a table in order to be heard over the grind of sawing through metal.

Loki smirks. “Think you can match a Stealth Hawk,  Ek’ir ?”

The screeching of the tool stops abruptly  and a few of the pieces in the pile shifts due to movement behind. “What’s condition?” 

“It’s seen some years...got a few dings, too.” Despite the reputation of the Skrull’s fleet, he knows this will be a hard sell. “Nearly intact and with full manoeuvrability.”

A  small figure appears at the top of the scrap heap, round eyes invisible behind the goggles and  the skin colour indistinguishable due to layers of oil and dirt.  Still, Loki knows how carefully the craftsman is at sizing anything (and anyone) up.

“Define..._near_ly.” Hopping down from the table, they pads towards the potential customers.

“Got no blasters,” the Asgardian reluctantly admits.

Nearly through the first round,  Ek’ir stops circling [Y/N] to stare at the Jotun with open mouth. “Why the Flerken would you  _dismantle_ the  _blasters?!_ ”

“It was that or lose the entire ship.”

M eanwhile, the human is trying to come to terms with the situation. Born on a primitive world, her wonder at space travel and the visit on Alfheim had been reasonable, however she is bordering on rude if she doesn’t stop staring at the short person. 

“If, and I _mean if_, it’s in good shape...” The cogs are turning behind the goggles to evaluate the potential gains and losses. “I’ll have to inspect it.”

“Of course.”

“Got a good few counteroffers you can choose from, at the moment.”

Loki arches a brow. “Freedom of choice?”

“We’ll see...but the Reach stays off limit!”

F ew things would be as satisfying as wiping the smirk off Ek’ir’s proud little face.  _A Reach._ Maybe the shop owner do es n’t know who Loki really is, but the species has a natural affinity for knowing exactly what a customer wants the most  making it rare for one of their kind to settle in this kind of trade.

“Fair enough,” the god shrugs, “would’ve been nice to break open my casket of Asgardian mead onboard an Asgardian ship, though.”

I t’s silent enough to hear the rowdy main street several blocks away as the trader pushes the goggles up onto the forehead, revealing exquisite lashes bordering yellow, cat-like eyes  with deceptively narrow pupils.  Small feet carries their owner right in front of Loki as if Ek’ir could stare down the much taller god.

“You got mead?” Loki shrugs once more. “How...how’ve you gotten Asgardian booze?”

_Wouldn’t you like to know? _ “How  ha ve you gotten a Reach?”

  
  


... Reader ...

You’ve given up figuring out what Loki and the little person is talking about, preferring instead the distraction of the mess surrounding you. It’s a crammed place, heaps of scrap metal and tools tucked under a n inconveniently low ceiling – although the owner wouldn’t have an issue with it, you suppose.  Trying not to stare at the short person, you begin a game of guessing which parts could go where on a spaceship. The mental images quickly become grotesquely cartoonish, resembling the work of imaginative kids rather than actual  space ship engineers .

Lost to your own musings, the gentle touch of Loki’s hand brings you back with a start.

“Come,” is all he says.

The delighted glint in his eyes doesn’t bode well as you follow both him and the  alien out and back the way you came, mostly. A slight detour is allowed to bring you along  to  another dock with several vessels of different size and type one of which is the focus of attention. The Asgardian is playing it cool but you can see by the slant of his smile that he’s delighted with one of the ships in particular, commenting on its current state versus the original specs which are far beyond your grasp. 

However, he doesn’t seem to strike a deal before having led the little one back to the ship that was your prison. It is the first time you really get to look at it without being in a rush (the second time seeing it from the outside at all). Sleek and silvery with a shape reminding you of a jagged spearhead it looks as lethal as you originally felt. 

_A Bugatti of space?_ Honestly, neither interstellar nor earthly transportation has mattered much to you as long as it worked and got you from point A to point B – you didn’t even own a car because that’s just silly when living in the city – but you’re pleased with the  analogy . 

“You got a deal if you throw in the cask of mead too,” the alien creaks.

"You drive a hard bargain," your travel partner retorts dryly.

Back and forth they go, inspecting ships and trying to outdo the other in tall tales about the vessels' past travels while you're bored out of your mind, eventually plopping onto the soft seat in a cabin of  what they call “ the Reach”. From there, you can see past the broken metal that could have made out the temporal  bone  (when the place wasn’t a wannabe planet)  and to the stars beyond.  _ How  _ _ f _ _ ar are we from Earth?  _

This is only the second pla ce  you've been to since life changed drastically. In a way, it makes you feel special. Privileged. Deep within you a primal urge to keep moving is stirring, it's vibrating through every cell of the body until they ache with a need you can't satisfy on your own. Glancing briefly at Loki, you prefer to think it's  also that longing, roaring silently  and sending the butterflies in your belly swarming over a  fire pit below.

"The rules are clear?" the little alien, Ek'ir, asks.

The Asgardian nods. "Doubles top with sixes as the best. Everything else reads as they show."

Propping yourself up on an elbow, you see them on either side of the table with a dice cup in between (where ever they've gotten that from). A wooden cask balances at the far end – a trophy on display. Memories from the parties you've gone to come back followed by vague rules from drinking games which always became less important as the nights carried on.

Ek'ir begins, slamming the cup down after having thoroughly rattled the dice around. A short peek. A frown.

"42."

Loki's face doesn't betray whatever he might be thinking. Slender fingers simply grab the cup and scoops up the roll to mimic the shop owner's motions. "Snake eyes."

The small hand with suction cups hovers in the air as the owner thinks carefully.  With a flick of the finger  the claim i s proven true, resulting in  a w oody groan from this round's loser who of course is intend on revenge –  a drawn out duel marked by small increments in the rolls before the Asgardian finds himself bested when trying to bluff. He takes it neatly, even sends you a wink. 

"32," Ek'ir opens the third and final session.

"54."

The dice rattle a bit longer than strictly necessary. "65."

"Snake eyes," the god offers politely on return, causing the adversary to freeze.

Even you hold  a breath. You have no clue why it's so important to get a different spaceship (and particularly this one except that it's aesthetically pleasing), however some sneaky plan must be depending on it or Loki wouldn't have gone through the trouble of bartering with the little alien.

"Naaaah..." They don't sound convinced. "A second one that soon? You think I'm gullible?" Still, the cup remains untouched, looming on the table.

"If you think me a liar, simply call my bluff." There's an air of nonchalance to the taller of the players. "Otherwise...best it."

"Probably counting on it, aren't you?"

There's no reply other than a shrug and a non-committal arching of the brows.  _ He's bluffing.  _ Admittedly, you're not sure.  _ Yay for not playing him. _ Surely, Asgardian mead can't be that amazing?

"Ha!" Wrinkly hands snatch the cup away, a bright gleam in the alien eyes and a smile to match. Only...the glee dissipates as the roll is revealed: two ones.


	15. Heart-Shaped Glasses

... Loki ...

They have spared no time moving their few belongings from the Stealth Hawk to the Asgardian Reach. [Y/N] had seemed peeved at the prospect of not staying longer at Knowhere, though she did not voice the disappointment. _Perhaps,_ Loki had mused, _perhaps she would be eager to leave if she kn__e__w how close to disaster we were. _The incident that had led them to the alley lingered in the god. It had left a bad taste in the back of his mouth and he saw shadows creeping where there were none.

Even now – with Knowhere as a minuscule, glowing speck in the distance – his thoughts a straying towards the darkness of his past.

“I’ve explored all of the ship.” [Y/N]’s voice startles him. “I’ve chosen my cabin. I’ve waited.” The breath she takes is world-moving. “Please talk to me.”

Images flash before his inner eye, showing distant figures of dread, and his own fingers tenderly stroking the Midgardian’s face, and the look of relief on her face when Arox had returned her.  _If I say one thing..._ A memory of gold shimmering on a graceful figure standing in the dusk returns unbidden.  _I can’t control my mind – how can I guard my words?_

“What is there to say?”

A  single glance reveals she is standing with stubborn fists on her hips. “You can start with why Arox’s gone?”

Arox’s hands had been wrapped around her knees as she throned upon her shoulder –  the recollection highlights how relief had been tainted by  a bitterness  that surfaces again . “I didn’t think you cared for him?”

“This isn’t ‘bout caring! It’s ‘bout _understanding!_” she spits back.

_I would want the same._ “Fine!” Loki turns fully in the captain’s chair to face the woman. “After it has become evident the initial plan will not succeed...he has decided to go his own way in an attempt to get his revenge upon Ronan.”

“Ronan?” Fingertips fidgets with the hems of her sleeves.

“One of Thanos’ henchmen. He led an attack on Arox’s home planet where he lost is sister. His family.”

Silence may be the obvious answer but the god can see how the information is woven into what’s already in [Y/N]’s mind to create new patterns of understanding. He sees the empathy surface in the shimmer of her eyes and the muted O of her lips until that too fades as she reaches a conclusion.

“I...wanted to thank him,” she admits with a meek bow of the head.

“For?”

“For helping me find you back there.”

Finally, Loki is graced by her eyes locking with his.

  
  


...  Reader ...

Although you had been tired when you went to bed, you find yourself tossing and turning until you eventually call it quits and sit up. Rubbing your palms up and down the face, knees supporting the elbows to allow for proper force to push away the many thoughts swirling inside your skull. _What a day!_ Wanting to blame the many events on your inability to sleep, you grasp at harrowing feeling of having been lost to..._to...to what?_ There’s no doubt in your mind: being stuck on Knowhere would have been a horrible fate that ultimately would have resulted in an unpleasant and probably short life. Anyone would have rejoiced to be back with Loki. 

_Or would they?_ Your cheeks are burning hot, you half expected them to glow in the darkness. 

“Fuck.” Slumping back with your arms sprawled as if the never ending night could swallow you, you groan.

There’s logic. It dictates Loki should be feared – if for no other reason then at least because he kidnapped you after (attempting) to kill Aïsha not to mention causing all sorts of trouble even before the attack on New York – although there’s a slight softening because “the enemy you know” always is preferable.

If only your emotions could synchronize with reason  rather focus on the ever-changing shades of green in the god’s eyes, or the way his clothes cling to the lithe form. It’s impossible to say when you first began to pay attention to these details.  _After he showed me...?_ Shuddering at the memories, Loki’s – not your own, there’s no denying it had  fuelled the new dynamic between then two of you but the change had already been set in motion before then and you had seen it in the Asgardian’s face when he pulled back, leaving pain, frustration, and regret in the wake. 

U nable to confront the raging sea of feelings, you hurdle through the darkened cabin and out the door.

The narrow corridor is bathed in artificial dusk. Silent, like the emptiness outside the hull.  Maybe it’s despair, maybe it’s something else, p ressing in from all sides at once until your legs are shaking under the crushing weight and your lungs are screaming for air.  The soothing chill of the metal beneath your hands and feet lasts mere seconds, pushing you blindly along in search for more. Something to anchor you. To steady you. And there it is, a hardness seeping through the clothes you sleep in and supporting your left side and back even when your knees buckle.

_ Finally, _ you think. 

The coldness is grasping your hands, cupping your face, murmuring soft words as it scoops you up and rocks you until the first gust of air is allowed to fill your lungs  through enormous gasps. 

A nd then you’re being carried by the soothing chill.  Somewhere, from across the universe, logic is screaming at you to dry the tears still rolling down your cheeks. All you have the power to do is turn your face towards the pale haven, burying against the smoothness in the hopes it’ll keep you safe from your own mind for a bit longer.

B y the time you feel the covers tugged around you, reality is waiting in the shadows ready to pounce.  _ Breaths shallow  _ _ with returning fear _ _ , barely enough to manage the words you had been so sure you’d never say. _

_“Please. Don’t go.”_

Loki hesitates and you half expect him to leave. Instead, the god lies down, rigid as an iron rod on the very edge of the bed. Wiggling a bit, you create more room for him so he doesn’t have to lie precariously  close to falling out.

“Thank you.”

The words hang between you, and you turn to your side to see see him better – an impossible hope in the emptiness of space where no lights shine.

You’ve almost given up waiting for an answer when you feel rather than hear him move. Feather light fingertips push stray hairs away from your face, and now the bed feels smaller than before as knees try to avoid knees and Loki’s breath tickles your forehead.

“Rest now,” he whispers.


	16. The Golden Age of Grotesque

... Reader ...

He's gone when you wake up – nothing but a slightly crumbled sheet and a dip in the pillow he has used. As your bleary eyes get used to the dim light mocking the non-existent dawn and the sense of abandonment wanes, your hand smooths across the empty space left behind by Loki.

Of all the monsters out there, he is by far the most gentleman-like one you've met even with all the horrors he's brought upon innocents. _He's a killer_, logic hisses at you. _He was under the control of that Thanos-guy,_ your Heart protests. _And Aïsha?_ You feel ashamed at how quickly an answer presents itself, excusing him by trusting in your skills. It's the usual battle of conscience, one you're losing quicker each time. _Perhaps I'm a monster too._

...

"Tell me, little mortal, is space as you had imagined?" Loki purrs from the captain's chair where his legs are dangling over the armrest.

Tearing your eyes from the scattered boulders of the asteroid belt, the stones reflecting the light from the local star in odd bursts of blue and purple, the god reminds you of a cat. "I...guess."

And just like a cat, he pounces at your hesitation. "Guess?" Green eyes bore into you.

"I...never really imagined much 'cause I didn't expect to ever _see_ any'f space." You shrug. "Better than driving myself crazy with something outta reach."

"And now? It's right there, pet! Just reach out, feel the endless freedom!"

Elegantly swinging onto his feet, Loki pulls you up before the bronze navigation console, a projection of the current galaxy swirling lazily before you. It holds countless possibilities, all represented by itsy bitsy tiny dots illuminating everything including Loki's hands on your shoulders. _I thought we were running?_ Fickle as the first flame of a fire, the Asgardian's moments of happiness amaze you – and goodness knows there haven't been many in the time you've known him.

"Where should I start, then?" you encourage him, hoping for the moment to continue.

His face is unreadable, a gleam of mischief the only hint he has come to a decision as he speeds up the ship and navigates away from the dancing stones to find a lifeless, dusty planet to land on.

“Come,” he orders, giving you no choice as he grabs you by the wrist and drags you along to his cabin where he digs out a pair soft cape which he sticks under one arm.

You never tire of Loki’s magic. How he can conjure up things from nothing, like the brightly glowing blue cube. Of course, you’re less than thrilled about the way it drops the two of you into a cloud of eternity and spits you out somewhere completely different – it makes your stomach swoop and your lungs clench.

“I prefer the view during the winter...but perhaps you can imagine it,” Loki explains with the voice of a tour guide.

_But it’s already breathtaking?_

From where you’re standing, high above the surrounding landscape, steep cliffs descent rapidly before you down to the dark waters below that have cut into land from the distant ocean. From across the sea, the setting sun is sending it’s last rays onto your face and behind you, it adds a fiery quality to the red and yellow of the few deciduous trees and shrubs breaking the backdrop of dark spruce and fading grasses.  High above, white clouds (painted with peachy colours) chase each other across a perfect sky, spurred on by the same wind that tugs at your clothes and carries the screams of the seagulls from down below.

“That’s a fjord.” The observation sounds lame in your own ears.

“Yes.” Blocking the view momentarily, Loki wraps the cape around your shoulders and secures it with a golden snake-brooch. “Welcome to Norway.”

  
  


...  Loki ...

He finds it difficult to choose what pleases him the most: the sight of [Y/N] dressed in his colours, or the look of disbelief painted on her face.  Either way, the Jotun finds no reason to stop a smile from tugging at his lips.

“You brought me...to freaking..._NORWAY?!_”

H e hadn’t noticed his hands were lingering on the cape’s lining until the pretty mortal wraps her fingers around his. Eyes big, mouth drawn into a thin line which Loki knows she’ll break only to worry the lower lip with her teeth.

“Would it have pleased you if I’d claimed it was in another realm?” The woman’s grasp can’t hold him as he pulls away.

“I don’t care what you call it!” By the Norns, her voice grates his nerves. “If _they_ realize you’re here! Won’t that...? Isn’t...? You can’t risk getting caught!”

_Pardon me?_ Reevaluating the pinch of [Y/N]’s brows and the tremble in her hands, it becomes evident the outrage stems from something different than the venue itself.

“What is this? The prisoner _cares_ for the monster?” Loki can’t help the mocking tone of the words.

"I...that's not...!" [Y/N] sputters indignantly. "_You_ tell me I can't got back home and still you're dragging me to _Norway_. If you get caught, what you think's gonna happen to me, _huh_? Think the Avengers are just gonna: 'Oh, right, this woman who's been hanging out with Loki’s _obviously _innocent and we'll just let her go about her life'? _NOT_!"

He cannot help the ripple of laughter spilling at the sight of this endearing mortal. While he half expects lightning to burst from her as she bristles with near-righteous fury, the God of Chaos and Mischief recognizes [Y/N]'s attempt to circumvent fact. _How peculiar._ It's tempting to wrap her in an embrace – be the protector rather than the threat (whether indirectly or not).

"Do not fret, my darling." His smile silences her. "Even if they arrive, we'll be gone before they can lay a finger on you."

Gorgeous [Y/E/C] eyes squint at him momentarily. "Fine," she snaps and turns with a huff.

Despite the outburst, it's an amicable silence enveloping them as they watch the last of the sun's disc before it dives beneath the horizon in a final flash of ruby and amber, and it isn’t until the first star appears on the sky above that Loki sighs. Heavy with the knowledge they cannot stay atop this natural outpost, he quietly reaches for the woman’s wrist only to be rewarded with her hand, fingers entwining effortlessly – almost like second nature. 

The shining cube already rests in his palm when [Y/N] speaks up. “ We’ll have to talk about what’s happening sooner or later, Loki.”

T oo late to stop the magic of the Tesseract, the indigo cloud consumes and spits them out. Perhaps the process is less smooth than it should be. Or perhaps an involuntary reaction from the god’s side jerks the human off balance ever so slightly that she stumbles against his chest. Either way, who could blame him from  tugging her against him in an effort to steady her?

S econds the length of hours pass before Loki dare loosen his hold and meet her gaze. “I told you the pitiful Avengers won’t reach you.”  _Or do you refer to other...developments?_

“Not that.” A piece of his heart stays with [Y/N] when she gently frees herself. “I’m talking ‘bout the so-called _plan_ you’ve got.”


	17. Born Villain

... Reader ...

A part of you have apparently decided that Loki isn’t a monster, but it’s every molecule of you that knows he’s freaking crazy. And stubborn. Not surprisingly, the god has refused to listen to reason, eventually driving you to the point of desperation where contravening his actions is the last hopeless tactic. Obviously, it’s not working. Why would it? As a physically weaker person with no understanding of spacecraft usage...well, you aren’t exactly a problem.

_Maybe I should attempt to guilt him? _ Lying on the bunk in your cabin, it almost seems plausible he would abandon the idea of Asgard as a safe haven for you if you plant the worry in him that you’d just be send back to Earth.

_He wouldn’t worry, though,_ logic sneers. Claiming to care, showing you his favourite place, all of it must be some ploy  to make you more willing. Alfheim? Probably just a test, or they still owe him that debt. Jotunheim? Well, he did talk about the place and the hope he had for it...but talk was all you ever got: not once did he show you the planet.  _That fucker’s probably been playing me this whole time!_

Spurred on by righteous fury, feet stomping and fists clenched tight, you march towards the cockpit. Hundreds of soliloquies tumble around your brain because this time,  _this_ time you won’t take no for an answer when you demand he listen. A calmer person might have reconsidered when reaching the cockpit and finding it empty. You just turn around on the heel and sweep to his cabin.

Words are already spilling out of your mouth when you push the door aside. “I’ve _had_ it with you!” Loki turns to face you with a pleasingly shocked expression. “_You_ and your _pompous_, _self_-indulgent, _power_-tripping _kamikaze_ mission! I don’t give a _rat’s ass_ about your plans unless you stop hiding things from me!”

“I dare say,” he smirks, annoyingly cocky as always, “that I’m not not hiding _any_thing right now.” Motioning with his hands, he makes you painfully aware that the man is, in fact, naked. 

Very naked.

“Ahglembluhnm!” you manage to sputter as you hide behind your hands, “I’m-I’m-I’msosorry!”

Backing away, the impact with the cold door startles you – they slide shut on their own which is something you previously liked. Now you hate it. Fumbling for the handle with eyes closed, the image of Loki standing there in all his godliness is seared into your brain, and still there’s no doubt you’d look again if you dared open your eyes.

“Having some...problems, my pet?” The Asgardian’s voice come from right behind you.

“N-no!” Your face is burning, hands shaking, and it has never been this difficult to open a sliding door before. “Not at...I just...didn’t mean to uhm to interrupt.”

Cold fingers wrap around your hand, guiding it to the handle. “Don’t fret.” Something cold and smooth brushes against your bare arm and shoulder. “If it would bother me, I’d just have locked the door when you first stomped by.”

“It...” The words slowly light up the appropriate areas of your brain. “Wait what?”

And your eyes are open, showing the large hand still holding yours. And the arm with ropy muscles stretching past until, when you turn slightly, it morphs into his shoulder and torso – the latter brushing against you in all its glory. _Fuck me sideways his gorgeous._

Right now the airlock Loki once threatened Arox with sounds appealing, anything as long as it would hide how your trying not to oggle the god. He even has the nerve to grin when you swallow thickly.  _It’s a test. Mind games. All of it._

At least he doesn’t try to stop you when you turn away and pull at the door. He just stands there, watching you tumble to your own cabin and barricade yourself.

What he doesn’t see, is the cold shower you head for and the change of panties.

  
  


... Loki ...

Watching her rush away, all the Jotun c ould do  wa s fight his instincts not to chase after her...or  rather, it would  have been i f that damned scent ha d n't seized his body, locking every muscle tightly with  predatory instinct as he familiarize d himself with the newfound knowledge.  _ Desire. _ That tantalizing smell ha d overpowered the initial rage oozing from her pores.  _ Need. _ Oh, he had seen her gaze flicker low, roaming his body with ill-disguised appraisal.  _ Lust. _ Clearly, it wasn't the sight that had chased [Y/N] away, but her realization of her own reaction.

A plan began to form in Loki's mind, one more devious than he had anticipated even before losing his heart to the Midgardian.

...

[Y/N] is quiet, timid even, when he sees her hours later in the cockpit. Unwilling to meet his eyes, she doesn't see the devilish grin he sports.

"My pet," he smirks, "I believe you didn't tell me _all_ you wanted last night?"

The heat of a thousand suns radiates from her cheeks. "I uhm..." Teeth worry the bottom lip so prettily. "It's just...what exactly do you think will happen when we get to Asgard?" she manages in a rush.

Although it certainly is a less entertaining conversational subject, Loki begrudgingly has to admit it's a valid question as it points out a weakness in the plan he's devised. "We'll disguise ourselves and sneak into the palace. I know several ways of coming and going unseen," he tries to boast but gains nothing than a scowl. "Eventually, I'll find a way to relay my message to the right person."

"Who is...?"

_ My mother. _ But he cannot say that out loud so instead he shrugs it off. "We shall see."

"Well, if we don't take care then we'll see Odin booting _me_ back to Earth and _you_ straight to prison. Or worse!"

"I'm sure you could use your charms in favour for us," the god teases.

"I can only heal, you ass! I don't have  _ your _ magic!"

She's a sight to behold: brows rumpled in anger, fists raised as if ready to beat the meaning of the words into anyone who dares challenge them. If it had been Thor standing there, then thunder would be gathering in the towering clouds of storms, whereas Loki’s own magic would bring the cold from Jotunheim.  _ Hmm.  _ It's true, there  is no weather phenomenon happening, but perhaps the reason is another than [Y/N] claims.

"Thank you, my flower," the Jotun sighs mischievously, "you just gave me the answer to our conundrum."

She squints at him as if to discern where the trap lies. "How? What?"

"_You_ shall be the one to secure contact with the _only_ person likely ready to listen."

Incredulity makes her curious. "Explain."

"You shall be a student of Frigga."


	18. White Knuckles

... Reader ...

_ Insane, insane, insane, _ logic sings in your head on repeat.

The tune had begun when Loki navigated the ship low over a barren planet littered with grey gravel and cliffs only to suddenly aim it at a steep incline without any indication of stopping or following the slope. Even as you shut your eyes tight, you regretted very few events of your (too short) life – but the crash never came. Instead, Loki brought the spacecraft to an abrupt halt and urged you to take a look. You didn't believe what you saw until the Asgardian had brought you outside the ship and let you wander through the cave barely big enough to house the vessel. What was harder to fathom was the view beyond the hiding spot.

Distance didn't matter when the inevitable limit to a journey was a sharp edge with a drop into space itself. You knew the view even if you never had been there yourself, and every instinct told you to run, to avoid the fall at all costs. But at the same time, the breathtaking landscape – more beautiful than the Norwegian fjord even – drew your heart towards it, funnelling your gaze until it found the City of Gold. Valhalla.

Sitting at the mouth of the cave now, side by side with Loki, the setting sun cuts the disc-world below with dark shadows.

"It's so...peaceful."

The god hums at your words. "So it can seem." And you know what it means because the pain that haunts him is also a part of you and has been since he shared the memories. "Yet...your presence does sweeten the bitterness of returning to this place."

The lilt in his voice makes it clear he's teasing you even if you secretly wish he was speaking the truth. Rolling you eyes, you don't try to hide the groan though. "Shut up."

"I can busy my mouth in other ways, however _ you _ won't be silent for long then."

_ Oh god. _ His insinuation and  your own dirty mind is all it takes for heat to build in your core and face. A moment passes where you don't dare wriggle to relieve the sweet itch the slightest. Gaze locked on the distant castle, you try to ignore Loki as he leans in and inhales deeply.  _ Is he smelling me? Oh fuck, can he smell stuff? Oh shitohshitohshit! _ A cool hand lands on your knee and rips you from the panicked train of thoughts.

"My sweet, there's no use in hiding your desires."

_Fuck! _Scurrying to get away from him and his magical nose, you almost fall when you push to your feet and hightail it back onboard the spaceship to hide in your cabin.

...

_He’s hot...and he’s been nice. _ The argument seems sort of solid, for a moment.  _Yeah, and he’s absolutely the kind of fucker to abuse that knowledge to get what he wants or just mess with people. God of Mischief, all right! _ You sigh into the darkness of the night, more or less assured Loki’s having fun at your expense.

  
  


... Loki ...

Three days of training the mortal about mannerisms at a royal court – more specifically the Asgardian court – and the former prince still has doubts she can succeed in selling the altered truth. His concern doesn’t stem from lack of decorum or choice of greetings, though, it’s simply [Y/N]’s lack of confidence.

“Pet,” the Jotun tisks, “you already _have_ done this before.” She scowls at him but doesn’t object. “Remember...you’re the hero of Alfheim.” 

The woman straightens up, pushes her shoulders back, and lifts her chin – none of it sudden, rather slowly as the compliment brushes away any objections she reaches for by habit.  _Beautiful._ The confidence radiates from her, nearly blinding Loki who has no intention of shielding his gaze anymore. 

“Damn straight! I rock and I’ll walk up to those guards and to the queen like...like...but Loki she’s a _queen_!”

[Y/N]’s cheeks are hot against his palms as he locks her gaze. “She is, but merely think of her as my mother.”

As always when the girl worries, her bottom lip pays the sweet price. “Yeah. No. That’s not helping.”

“She’s kind and wise. Treats everyone with respect,” the fallen prince explains, heart spilling over for once although the descriptions seem to be about someone else too, “her gentleness improves the world, and her love inspires those around her to strive for excellence.” 

A mere hand’s length divide Loki’s lips from the Midgardian’s. A gentle dip is all it would require to experience the softness and taste the sweetness of eternity with a sweep of the tongue. _Would she give in?_ Perhaps she would. She might kiss him back, give him all he longs for freely – including her heart – and he would covet her love. _Then her affections would freeze as she comes to understand,_ a bitterness reminds him, _some monsters aren’t changeable._

L etting go, he turns aside and pretends to busy himself with the book he has brought from his cabin. In it, is a brief summary of the history of Asgard, now with scraps of parchment to mark the passages suitable to serve as examples of court culture. 


	19. Strange Same Dogma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frigga <3

... Loki ...

He’s at [Y/N]’s side when she approaches the gates to Valhalla the next day. Disguised as her servant, Loki’s role is mute whenever others are nearby (unless addressed directly) though he is prepared to whisper advice discreetly if the guards prove difficult.

Two golden-armoured einherjar are in their usual spots, blocking the way, but neither are given a chance to speak before the Midgardian embraces her role. “My name is [Y/N] and I have come to seek audience with queen Frigga. I know you must confer with her majesty, however my travels have led me far since I left Alfheim and the gracious hospitality of the High Priestess.” With the Älfir garb and t he impeccable posture, she looks the part. “I presume temporary  accommodations can be arranged.”

The last bit carries the tiniest hint of a question’s intonation, precisely enough to prevent coming over as either rude or begging,  and as one einherjar ensures the message of the visitor is relayed the other calls for a servant to arrange (and escort the duo to) a waiting chamber.

I t takes a moment before Loki is alone with the mortal  again  and he knows the peace will be short lived.

“I’m impressed, my pet.” He adores the way [Y/N] beams with pride. “Anyone would assume you are of royal heritage.”

A ny other words dry up in his throat and the former prince allows himself to fall silent, eyes  seemingly studying the familiar stones beneath his feet  while in reality gazing  unseeingly.

He’s home. Frigga’s lullabies ghost these halls at the edge of hearing, calling for the lost child to retrace the paths from years ago even now as time and fate ha ve warped him into the grown man he is today.  _How long has it been? _ Surely, not long enough that he cannot find the way around the palace blindfolded if need be. And, oh, to revisits the favourite nooks and best reading spots or to climb the spires only to greet the first stars even before they have dared look above the horizon.  Loki’s heart clenches at the madman’s hope of strolling through his mother’s garden which smells of herbs and  safety.

  
  


...  Reader ...

The place is much grander than your wildest imaginations  had prepared you for . Gold, rich stones and woods, precious stones, all coming together in  sharp lines reaching high above you. The place does not hold the natural  flow of Alfheim’s temple – there,  A rt Nouveau  from Earth  had  been the closest resemblance –  rather favouring something akin to Art Deco. Still, neither style truly encompasses what you see or have seen and if given the freedom, you’d easily spend hours studying the palace.

But , s itting in silence, all the decadence of the room loses the welcoming glamour as a chill saturates the air. You instinctively move to sit next to Loki on the pillow-covered bench. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t seem to notice your closeness.  Leaning in slightly, you don’t see tears in those emerald eyes of his  but are met with a pained emptiness.  I t’ s haunting.

_ What can I do? _ Nervous of potential violent reactions, you don’t exactly feel like shaking him out of the stupor – whatever you decide to do must be subtle. Your gaze falls to where he has drawn his lips into a thin line and of course you wonder how it would feel if to have his mouth respond if you were to kiss him.  _ Don’t be an idiot! _ No, the man might have taken a liking to teasing you but while it’d doesn’t make sense why, you know it can’t be from wanting you.

So , you do the only thing you can think of and slip your fingers in between his,  squeezing the cool hand gently in the same rhythm of your breathing.

Time pass. The wintry bite in the air softens. Loki’s breathing slowly adapts to match the speed indicated with each careful nudge of your fingers. Eventually, his hand curls to return the gesture, and now the lack of words is peaceful, a sacred promise of a haven  for all that remains unspoken.

O ne final squeeze, then Loki disentangles from the hold to shrug. “We must uphold the charade of Lady and servant, my dear.”

You know he’s right...but it your heart still objects to the distance when you return to the previous seat. You’re glad when, just as expected, it doesn’t take long before a guard arrives with an update. 

“Queen Frigga has accepted the request for an audience.” Both of you get up. “Only you, lady [Y/N].”

This isn’t part of the plan and you can’t help glancing to Loki who nods imperceptibly as he sits back down. There’s a calm in his eyes that soothes you. The man might have gotten you wrapped up in his messy life, but you have no doubt anymore: he’ll see you through it too.

Turning to face the guard, you straighten up. “Of course.”

...

The queen of Asgard is not alone when you’re shown into the grand room. A host of other women, presumably a mix of servants and nobles, are gathered around her like a space posse with snacks, drinks, and gossip which continues uninterrupted as you enter. St opping just past the door, forlorn at the sight of the gorgeousness of it all, the guard pushes you gently towards a woman at the centre. 

Frigga is sitting on a couch, deeply engrossed in conversation with a couple of the other ladies. Her blond hair is done up elaborately with the exception of a few long ringlets and the dress is the most heavenly sky-blue, flowy thing – the kind you’ve only seen in fantasy books or medieval images.

“Your highness,” your escort announces, “lady [Y/N] of...” his voice trails off, unsure how to finish as you never told him where you’re from.

Managing an awkward bow, nothing has prepared you for Loki’s mother swooping over to grasp both your hands.

“Lady [Y/N]! I’m delighted to meet you!” The wholehearted smile dazzles you as some of her son is evident in the gleam of her eye. “Rumour of your prowess precedes you. Come, sit with me.”

Frigga doesn’t have to say anything for the two conversational ex-partners to get up with delicate nods. Even with the purple, Älfir dress you’re wearing, you feel out of place – a commoner pretending to be royal. _That’s exactly what I’m doing._ And you’re glad to have your hands back as your palms start to get sweaty.

“Forgive the informal welcome, we were not aware of your arrival.”

Frowning slightly, you can’t detect the sarcasm Loki has introduced to your daily life. “My travels have held several surprises even for me.”  _Please don’t dig in it._

The smirk familiar despite the shimmer of something unidentifiable. “I know the Älfir were saddened when you took your leave. How did you find your stay there?”

“Oh, the planet is breathtaking and they are _very_ kind and generous!” At least this isn’t a lie.

“The first is indisputable, though I dare say not many will agree on the latter...however,” the queen reconsiders, “I suppose you are special to them as you have saved their High Priestess.”

_They’re not friendly normally? _ “I...I guess...”  A nagging in the back of your mind has been activated and you know it won’t stop until you’ve asked Loki about a couple of things.

“No need for modesty, lady [Y/N].” Again, Frigga looks genuinely delighted. “A mortal, but with the magic of old Alfheim running through the veins...it is no wonder they welcomed you as they did.” _Oh?_ “Please indulge me: how has this come to be? Who has trained you in the arts of magic?”

A nd there it is: the gaping hole surrounding the ability you’ve grown up with. 

For years, you felt like a freak. No one were like you or could tell you why songs with strange words would well out of your mouth.  It had isolated you more often than not, forcing you to start over when people who didn’t understand started to fear you instead.  _I did no harm._ But that had never mattered. It was enough to simply be different.

Pushing the memories aside, you look down at your hands that are wringing the sleeves. “I don’t know.”  _Ugh, don’t sound so pathetic!_ “It has always just been me, trying to figure out these things on my own, your highness.”

“Hm.” Frigga’s palms are soft when she plies your fingers from the stretched hem. “I see why he brought you here, then.”

“Who?” With all that has happened, you should be used to fear clawing inside your chest like now.

R ather than answer you, the queen merely announces the room at large, “Leave us. All of you.” The last bit is addressed to the guard that you only now notice has stayed by the door. “And see to it that the chambers have been prepared.”

They must  know the drill , these fancy women, because no one complains or looks surprised as the y file out.  Even if you had felt out of place with all of them around, the sense of foreboding and displacement doesn’t lessen, and you try to avoid meeting the piercing gaze of the queen in the hopes of keeping up the charade – a near impossible endeavour as she studies you in silence until the door clicks shut.

“Let us abandon pretense, me dear,” Frigga sighs before urgency takes over. “How is my son? How is Loki?”

_Fuck. She can’t...can she? Like mother like son? Oh, crap._ “I don’t know wha-”

“Tish-tosh. It is hard for me – and Heimdal – to track him. My boy has always been intelligent and...well, sneaky. But a mother knows her child, and when we learned someone with such a gift had been abducted from Midgard? Well, I had my suspicions as to his plans.” It’s impossible to tell if the proud smirk is due to her own success in figuring out what was going on or Loki’s accomplishments. “He learned nigh everything he knows from me, and despite the turmoil in his heart there is reason behind his madness.”

“Don’t call him mad!” It pops out of your mouth before you can think and your heart almost follows, getting stuck in the throat on the way and blocking any intake of air. 

Frigga’s hands are warm, unlike the man in question’s. Tenderly, they cup your cheeks, rubbing circles on the skin until the rhythm echoes in your body and breathing becomes possible once more.

“Do not fret,” the queen and mother instructs. “I shall not ask where he is or if they two of you are colluding. All I wish is that he is...is...” Wetness wells in her eyes, briefly but long enough for you to recognize it. “He has been struggling and so I hope he has found a gentler path to tread on the way to redemption. Any proper mother would feel assured knowing that their son does not walk alone.”

_This is __h__is home._ Sure, Asgard itself has been where Loki grew up, the place he still belongs to despite what he has said about Jotunheim and Odin’s rejection. But you begin to suspect that the real reason for the strong attachment is sitting right before you. So much of Frigga’s small mannerisms have been passed on to her adoptive son though her pride has been tempered by a wisdom your companion hasn’t gained yet.

“Worry not, dear,” the queen interrupts you thought, “all will fall into place in time and until then, I may be able to teach you more about your gift and how to hone it. You shall be my guest in Valhalla. Welcome to Asgard.”


	20. Birds of Hell Awaiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mistake: I'd accidentally skipped a chapter. Here's the one I missed!

... Loki ...

The quarters are composed of three rooms: a large suite for the noble guest with an adjacent bathroom, and a small, windowless chamber with one door leading to the main room and another granting access to the hidden network of passages used by the staff to move swiftly and unseen through the palace. A few maids have already come and gone this way, ensuring the airy suite is spotless (balcony door ajar to allow a light breeze to sweep invisible specks of dust along the gleaming stone floor). The sun plays with the golden and cream details on the walls, the silk of the four-poster, and drapes. Fresh lilies and lavender in golden vases are placed both here and in the luxurious bathroom.

Loki sees none of it.

The former prince of Asgard knows every single room and cupboard in the palace, yet he is unable to find any peace of mind now he has returned. Impatience herds his steps along a continuous path from the door, to the bed, to the balcony, and back. Without “his mistress” present, he does not dare abandon the illusion masking his true form nor leave the guest chambers – as a servant, it’s expected of him to stay until told otherwise by [Y/N] or any of the Asgardian staff who would inform the newcomer of anything relevant to a servant’s tasks.

If he had been less preoccupied, he might have noticed one or two of the maids try to talk with him until they eventually give up, presuming he worries about his lady’s whereabouts.

When the heavy, gold-inlaid doors finally grant [Y/N] entrance, it’s all he can do to restrain himself until the escort has taken their leave and closed the door with a barely audible click. Then the Jotun can allow his disguise to disappear in a shimmer of gold together with his patience.

“What happened?” Loki crowds the mortal against the smooth wood, caging her with a palm bracing him against it on either side of her. “Speak.”

“Jeez, calm down.” She tries to dodge past him but is immediately pushed back. “Hey! Relax, it’s fine.”

The stubborn gleam in her eyes does nothing to amuse him this time. Before she can react, her wrists are pinned above her head and Loki has pushed her a foot upwards by wedging a thigh between her legs. Gone is the stubbornness, replaced instead by shock.

“Don’t. Test. Me.”

Wincing at his freezing hiss, [Y/N] complies. “She knows..._some_how, she knows we’ve been travelling together and I _think_ she suspects you’re here or at least nearby and _definitely_ still in charge of our plans but it didn’t _seem_ like she’s got a problem with it or’s gonna rat you well _us_ out and it’s all very strange but she’s also _really_ nice and guessed or actually more like _offered_ to teach me magic which means we can stay here until I dunno and please she said a lot of nice things ‘bout you but _I didn’t _spill the beans!”

Both Jotun and human are out of breath when the last words slip from [Y/N]’s mouth. Red-tinted eyes search for any inkling of a lie but find none. _Thank you, mother._ Flesh tremble under the thin, purple silk as his hands sink, unbeknownst to Loki.

  
  


... Reader ...

Your insides are in an uproar, every emotion battling to be the dominant one even now when the god’s hands have come to rest on your waist. His face is a blur, too close to focus on because you’re forehead to forehead, but you can tell his eyes are closed almost like this is the first time he’s been able to relax – a notion that’s strengthened by each slow breath that fans across you lips.

_Fuck me sideways._ Not even a hair’s breath separate the two of you due to the way Loki has wedged you against the door. And your own thigh, the one pressed against his crotch, confirms what you’ve glimpsed only once.  _Not now, not now, not now._ At least the guy might be distracted enough not to notice how your body slowly betray s you by picking sides in the battle between responses  and conjuring a throbbing where his thigh supports your weight . E ver so lightly, your own hands find their resting place s on his shoulders  and f ingers curl gingerly into the rough fabric. 

For a second, it feels like you’re falling and it turns out that you  did because Loki has pulled away with a jerk,  forcing your feet to slam onto the stone floor and leaving you breathless at the abrupt return to reality. A blur of green and black strides away,  ignorant of the hollow  left behind inside your chest .

“Good. Well done.” The Asgardian’s smile can be heard on his voice. “It’s a risky game, pet, yet now hope can bloom once more.”

_ H ope for what?  _ You don’t want to acknowledge the dejected aftertaste burning down into your guts. “So what now?”

“We sow the seeds.”


	21. A Place in the Dirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After having inserted the skipped chapter: here's the latest update (from yesterday).

... Reader ...

If you had had any hope of getting off the hook lightly on your first day in Asgard...well, those hopes have been crushed, ground into dust, mixed with oil and pigment, and painted onto the wall to spell out the words ‘HA HA’.

Loki had given you all of half an hour to chill and explore the room – surprisingly granting you ownership of the gorgeous suite and the fairy tale-esque bed – however his return had brought a storm of preparations. Maids and tailors (he called them seamstresses) had flocked around you, insisting to prepare a bath for you (as if you weren’t capable of that yourself) after having taken your measurements and tested a gazillion different fabrics while you stood like a mannequin until your body hurt. Admittedly, the bath had been worth it, but you weren’t gonna tell the schemer that  when you’d appeared from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

A llowing a maid to usher you behind a screen, Loki had busied himself with a servant – a good thing too as you were afraid getting physically near him would ruin you and the cleanliness. Still, you  we re happy for the help as the clothes presented to you  we re new, styled to match what you had seen the Asgardian noblewomen wearing earlier. Several layers of gossamer-thin silk in greens and sandy colours  we re almost magically draped across your shoulders, tugged and crossed into a smooth, shimmering haze before the piece-de-resistance  wa s applied: it look ed like a bodice of metal scales, the coppery kites woven together unseen without desisting the subtlety of any other thick fabric. 

“Lady [Y/N], it is hard to believe you are not Asgardian,” a blond man greets you, breaking the dreamlike (or nightmarish) state you’re in.

Smiling politely, you recall he has been hanging out with a small group during the beginning of the feast. With a woman on each arm, the Asgardian has been drinking and laughing with a bear of a guy with red hair and a beard befitting a Tolkien dwarf (he even has roughly the same shape and table manners as one); at least the second friend – although short of words – knows how to behave himself in court if Loki's directions are to be believed: his face is happy and eyes sharp, never stopping the careful watch of everyone in the room. You don't mind when he looks your way because he will move the gaze to the next person soon enough. The woman, however...brilliant eyes have taken in your every twitch even after Frigga officially welcomed you, explaining to the court how the plan was for you to be tutored by the queen herself. _Sif._ Apparently, she's quite a warrior and still, she isn't coming to save you now.

"Thank you."

Rather than leaving you alone again the blond sits down, grabbing a glass of golden liquid from a tray of a passing servant and taking a sip. Eyes the colour of forget-me-nots twinkle over the brim.

"Please indulge my curiosity, fair lady." With that melodious voice you might forgive him everything. "How come you travel alone? Save for a single servant..."

You know the answer because it's been drilled in it by Loki: “Travelling without an agenda set in stone, it would be presumptuous and unkind to any host if I arrived with the customary retinue. My _servant_, as you call him, may not attend precisely the same tasks as a maid...but his allegiance is unwavering. I trust him with my life.”

B rows half cocked, the man next to you drains the glass lazily only to signal for more. The tip of his tongue wipes the last drop of his lips, eye contact unbroken. A shiver runs down your spine  and you’re not entire sure it’s the good kind even if there’s an inkling of admiration for his confidence.  _Player. _

“If ever you find yourself in need of...other company,” the man leers, “you can always come to me.” Two full glasses are set between the two of you and he immediately scoots one towards you. “I am Fandral, of the Warriors Three. At your service, m’lady.”

S imply raising your glass in return, you decide life will be a lot nicer with some friends around especially with Loki’s recent teasing. And either way, what harm can a polite gesture do?

...

_Someone stop the floor._ Your entire world seems to tilt and spin as you walk down the grand hallways – not uncomfortably so, just enough that keeping on a straight path requires more concentration than you’re willing to spend at the moment when you’d much rather enjoy the warm buzz in your body.

“The floor’s steady, silly pet,” a cool voice admonishes beside you, “I _told_ you not to drink the mead.” 

Turning to face Loki, his face bobs in and out of focus until something cool readjusts it’s grasp on you. Some sort of answer is brewing in your brain, but it’s not quite ready yet, it seems, and so you let him lead you the rest of the way to your room.

_Aha!_ “Buttit tastsss  _good_ ! And Fandang...Fanran...Fannnn-”

“Fandral.” With a sigh, Loki plops you onto the huge bed.

“Tha’s’e’one!”

For a moment the trail of thought escapes you  while you wiggle around the soft, bouncy surface in an attempt to figure out the method to get out of the bodice. When your companion swats away your hands, you hum with delight at the delicate touch freeing you.  _Yay! Cool down._

As the feast had progressed and your new, blond friend had coaxed the glass of mead into you (an easy feat considering the deliciousness) your body had begun to heat up, making you miss Loki’s soothing temperatures.

Shrugging off the layers draped over your body, the air is like a balm. “Orh, that’s be’er.”

  
  


...  Loki ...

N othing but a delicate shift shields [Y/N]’s curves, the silk still unable to hide the darker nipples puckering as she throws herself back into the pillows  with a delighted groan.  _If only..._ Loki’s imagination grants him flashes of scenes where each sound falling from the woman’s lips are a testimony to the  bliss granted by him. Shifting to ease the discomfort brought on by too confining trousers, the Jotun allows his hands to move slowly as they pull the covers over the Midgardian’s body.

“Sleep now, I’ll open the balcony door to let the cool air in.”

It’s a simple order and [Y/N]’s eyes are already closing, still she manages to capture one of his hands and lead it to her forehead. “This works too.”

He can’t pull back, only stare and try to breathe evenly as the woman guides his hand as though it’s a cool cloth. Along the jaw, down the throat to send shivers racing towards the hairline at the neck.  Knuckles brush delicately back and forth over the clavicles before she allows his palm to flatten over the  upper  sternum – the heartbeat beneath strong and rapid –  only to drag further until nestled between her breasts while the silk is pulled taught by his wrist. 

_I...not like this._ Snagging the hand back, Loki ignores the whimpers and turns away to discreetly readjust the painful tightness of leather  again .

...

Lying in the darkness of the servant’s room, he can still smell the dampness of [Y/N]’s skin on his hand and the memory of soft heat guides that very same hand’s strokes  upwards, twists, and down again in the hopes of relieving some of the tension and frustration that have build up within.

A  flicker of magic, and a rendering of her face glows dimly, smiling softly at Loki as he ups the tempo. Though the heat is lacking, at least he can mimic the tight hold she would have on him as he thrusts into the fist  repeatedly. Although wavering, more of her body appears, completing the recollection of the sight of [Y/N] splayed on the fourposter. The god’s breath hitch and his hips stutter, but the euphoria only lasts mere seconds before the unquenchable need returns.  _Sweet doom._ There  _is_ a way to sate the hunger, but it has to be done right or not at all.


	22. Cruci-Fiction in Space

... Loki ...

Nearly a week has passed where the mortal has either studied theoretical magic or been wandering around the palace with her "servant" in tow in the hope of establishing a sense of direction. Hopefully soon, she can roam freely in search of socialization which in turn will result in information and allies.

Today, they're sitting in one of the gardens, [Y/N] with a heavy book in lap and furrowed brows while Loki simply enjoys the smell of the grass as they sit side by side on the bench. _Odd,_ he muses, _to be comfortable with someone in silence like this._ As much as it entertains the Jotun to tease the woman – and as much as he lusts for her – it seems impossible to ever tire simply of watching her. He finds her breathtaking in the candlelight as she sits and talks about her new knowledge, and she is stunning now as the sun highlights an infinity of shades in her hair and the eyes squint towards the written pages. Sometimes, the plump lips free a mumble (most often a foreign word), capturing Loki's attention and binding it.

"Ah, here you are, lady [Y/N]!"

The loud interruption startles the lady in question but she smiles as soon as Fandral emerges from behind a lilac bush, carelessly breaking a cluster of flowers off to present her with. _Gah! Sickening._ But of course the Midgardian plays her part and inhales the sweet scent.

"Have you been searching for me, lord Fandral?"

"My entire life."

_Groooaaaan! _Playing the silent part, Loki has to bite his cheek from betraying his thoughts.

"Prince Thor has returned to Asgard," the blond man explains, "which means there will be a grand feast tonight his lengthy absence...I was hoping you would accompany me?"

_She will not!_

"Gladly." [Y/N]'s smile hasn't wavered for a second since the suitor's arrival. "Only...I _must_ have completed this chapter before then..."

"Say no more! I shall leave you to your studies, happy with the promise you have given me."

_Yes, run away, scoundrel!_ Oh, Loki hates not being free to go in his old friend's stead and the burning jealousy has no relation to the reason for the feast. _But for the Warriors Three to side with our cause...I'll suffer through it._

  
  


... Reader ...

You have to admit: it feels amazing to have a man straight up woo you like in the romance novels you sometimes used to read. It's flattering. And a welcome distraction considering your life has turned into a tight rope act.

It's with your nerves on the sleeves, you enter the great hall and the cacophony of merriment – even if dinner isn't served yet, most Asgardians have already found something to drink and constantly do so to each others' health when they meet friends or at least anyone they care enough about – above all of which a new voice booms. Zeroing in on the sound, you spot Thor next to Fandral and the rest of Sif’s gang.

Unsure what to do, you take your time weaving between people before you halt a good ten yards away. _I could...or maaaybe...but if I walk over...nah..._The train of thought isn't exactly coherent as you silently debate what to do. Sif, Volstag, well all of them have become sort of acquaintances over the course of the week you've stayed in Valhalla and you wouldn't hesitate interrupting them if need be. But now? _That's Loki's brother._ And you don't believe the God of Mischief when he claims he "has no care" or says "he is and never was my brother". _If only they could get a chance to talk...oh._

Sudden inspiration spurs you on and with head held high you march straight up to Fandral. "This time _I_ found _you_ first, my lord."

"Lucky me!"

Perhaps the sensation of Thor scrutinizing your face is pure imagination at first, still the moment you’re officially introduced to him, those blue eyes light up with understanding and he grabs your shoulders so suddenly your knees almost buckle.

“[Y/N]! From New York? I knew it!” Whether or not you’re supposed to answer remains a mystery as he pulls you into a rib-crunching hug. “Lady Aïsha came to us, claiming my br-Loki had abducted you, but we had nothing but her word to go on...no clue where he would have taken you if it were true...”

Managing to tap out of the muscular arms, a  sharp edge of guilt burns through you a t the idea of your neighbour having gone to the Avengers for help.  _And getting none._ Last you saw her, she’d been soaked in her own blood on your living room floor. Alive, yes, and most likely traumatized after having been killed by a god and resurrected by a supposedly normal girl.

“How is she?”

“Aïsha? Fine. Mr. Stark saw to it that she was given the assistance needed.” The prince’s brows wrinkle as he look you over (slightly crumbled now but obviously in good condition). “And I find you in good health, even studying the arts of magic under my dear mother’s tutelage...how have you come to be here?”

Thor is not the only one staring at you for answers, and you don’t really blame Fandral or his friends as you haven’t exactly told them where you come from. Sif glares with obvious distrust while the men, in particular the blond admirer, seem curious more than anything else.

_ Use the truth. _ “Loki had hoped to use my abilities in some scheme or other...” You allow a sigh to underline the past tense. “But...as it turns out, I wasn’t able to do that  and he left ... a t least he didn’t kill me. Since then, I’ve tried to make my way to safety  and I consider myself lucky to have wound up here.”

“And I have it on good authority lady [Y/N] is excelling at her studies,” Fandral beams, fingers carefully skimming your back.

Any hope of getting to talk with Thor about his brother or events back on Earth are quickly dashed as the prince is called away, his attention constantly shift ing as noble Asgardians nearly stand in line for a chat or whatever semi-immortals do. 

The four  friends carry on their usual partying with only a few odd questions about your past interspersed through the conversation.  Fandral lets no opportunity  slip by to court you, his hands often straying to brush away stray hairs from your cheek or simply tou c h your arm, shoulder,  or  back which sends uncomfortable shiver running along your spine.

It’s possibly the longest feast in history (at least as far as you know). Unable to relax, and forgoing the sweet mead, you’re grateful when it finally becomes late enough for you to say goodnight without coming off as rude.

“Allow me to walk you to your chambers, m’lady.” Fandral is already on his feet, offering a hand to help you up.

_Ugh, no, not now._ “That’s very kind...though I do believe I need some solitude.” Four  pair s of  eyes bore into you, silently demanding justifications for the wish. “A lot is on my mind...speaking with Prince Thor has brought back memories...”

“Say no more, sweetling,” Fandral’s assurances nearly make you gag, “but know that if _ever_ an open heart or a listening ear is what you need: I’m there.”

Sif actually rolls her eyes behind his back.  _Maybe I can get her sympathy that way?_ Rather than commit to anything, though, you say goodnight once more and finally extract yourself from the noisy hall. 

It’s blissfully quiet in the halls of Valhalla. Here and there, a guard  d ressed in the pompous, golden armour – Loki keeps calling them Einherjar – stands in brooding silence.  T hey don’t interfere anymore after Queen Frigga officially welcomed you to the court and as extension placed you under their protection. 

_I’m like a princess in a fairy tale._

Almost magically, you’ve managed to recover a good mood by the time you close the chamber door behind you. Then you turn and find Loki standing, glaring at you with his arms crossed and red shimmer in the perfect eye.

Pulling back the lips to reveal white teeth, he sneers, “Enjoying the company tonight?”


	23. Misery Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaand here's the chapter that I did post too early by accident, deleted/replaced by the right one...and now (on purpose) posting again.

... Reader ...

_What the ever-living FUCK?_ The bubble of happiness bursts, the pop loud in your mind but blown away by the cold storm raging before you in the shape of a raven-haired god  with the colour of blood in his eyes. Memories of faces smiling during the feast come and go in a blur and leave you none the wiser as to what Loki’s problem is.

“Uh...yeah? It was okay,” you try carefully, “think I’m getting closer to Sif and the trio to accept me.”

“You don’t _say_?” Sarcasm is probably the default state for the god, you decide there and then. “Practically _crawling _onto their laps.”

Staring dumbfounded at him, each snarled accusation is a whiplash driving you closer to desperation as up and down cease to make any sense. Unsure whether to laugh, cry, or scream back at him, you just stand stock still. Loki, on the other hand, has taken to stalking around the room as he denounces the Asgardian ways – feasts, pretend friendships, nothing goes free – before ultimately turning to you again on an unseen wave of icy coldness radiating from the bluing skin.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have my dear _brother_ rescue you,” he hisses, “or went with Fandral for comfort...he’d be more than willing to oblige.”

“Wait...what?”

Oh yeah, the fallen prince’s eyes are swallowed by red, leaving only a pinprick of black from the pupil.  “You heard me.”

_Sure did, smurf._ “ This’s ‘bout  them ? Are you...? D’you think I’m  _desperate_ enough to dick it down with Fandral or have Thor sweep me away like I’m some maiden in  _distress?_ ”

N ow you’re the one getting into his personal space. Though you’re far from as imposing compared to a god with ruby eyes and frosty skin, his raven hair cascading to his shoulders in ways fit for an anime character, you still manage to push him back a few steps before he digs his he e ls in.

“Tell me honestly, the idea doesn’t tempt you, mortal?”

“Hell yeah, it tempts me! But, y’know what? I can’t! If I go back home to hide and some day Thanos shows up...how’d you think that’d make me feel? Or if you take your dumb-ass on some quest to find the fucker only to get killed? No, that ain’t happening ‘cause I’ma stick through with this. That’s what this _mortal_’ll do: do things right.”

You can barely see him because tears (which you refuse to let fall) are blurring your vision. By some miracle, you manage to find the door and march down the dim hallway without bashing face first into something but by the time you turn the first corner, your cheeks are wet.

_GAAARGH! He’s such an...an...UGH!_ Haven’t you already proven yourself? Sure, he might just see you as a mortal, as he keeps pointing out, but how many mortals does he know that would’ve been able to handle the mess he’s thrown at you? Admittedly, it might be your self-diagnosed Stockholm Syndrome speaking when you feel you deserve more respect from Loki.  _Not that he has to “like me” like me...just..._

Wiping salt water and probably snot from your face, you look around for somewhere to be alone with your thoughts  and spot a double door which could lead to a balcony or terrace only to find it blocked by a blond figure.

“Lady [Y/N]?” You’ve only spoken with Thor once, but no one else has a voice like that, a voice you don’t want to hear right now. “Please, tell me what troubles you.”

_Why bother?_ It’s so easy to follow along as he cups your elbow with one of the huge hands and escorts you onto what does indeed turn out to be a balcony. 

Any other person would gasp at the view of the golden-roofed city below, stretching towards the ocean and the infinity of space just beyond. You, a sarcastic thought jeers in your mind, you’re busy sniffling and holding back tears because of some silly spat – and there’s no way you can tell that truth to the man beside you.

“I know...I’m a stranger to you and you have no reason to trust me with your worries,” Thor begins softly, “yet I do feel responsible for your fate. Your chance of happiness. What my brother di-”

“Enough!” The exclamation startles him, blue eyes reconsidering the woman before him. _Oops._ “I’m...I’m sorry, your highness,” you try to recover while your heart beats in your ears. “Forgive me. You have no obligations on my behalf, your brother’s actions are not yours to atone for.”

The dazzling smile is pretty even if it’s barely hiding a pain beneath. “Kind words, but clearly it torments you.”

“No.” _Oh, that’s actually true._ “No, what _pains_ me is what I’ve learned since. Thor...you’ve been to Earth. You’ve seen us humans...and you know we’re hopelessly unprepared for what’s to come!”

“Even if Loki would be foolish enough to attack once more, Midgard is not defenceless. You know this.”

T he Avengers. Thor had stopped Loki and his Chitauri (as you later found out the aliens were called) invasion. It hadn’t exactly been pretty which is something a lot of politicians are still pointing out – or were before you suddenly found yourself at the mercy of the guy who’d plotted the attack.  It feels like years ago.

“Not...” _How can I say this right? _“Not Loki. Thor, please believe me, he’s not the real problem.”

“Any threat at all...your realm is under my protection.” At least his brows have the decency to furrow, almost hiding the pristine blue.

“He came for the Tesseract...but he already had a Scepter with magical abilities. Where did he get that? Who helped him – or who did _he_ help?”

Obvious ly, the older brother isn’t as dimwitted as Loki claims because you can see tiny lights go  on and  off as he connects some of the dots – eyes gazing through your skull and into a different infinity than the one beyond the borders of Asgard and finding the murky areas where there isn’t enough information to illuminate the unknown. 

When the crown prince does focus on you, a new worry tightens the muscles of his jaw. “If the Tesseract was all he wanted, why not leave?”

“Who wanted the Tesseract, really? And _was _that all?”

“Then why the invasion? A smoke screen?”

Y ou shrug  (even if it’s hard with Thor’s heavy hands resting on your shoulders) because what else can you do?  And silence falls again as each option and its implications are weighed carefully.

“What makes you certain of this?”

Loki might be the God of Lies, Mischief, and whatnot...but looking up into his brother’s face there’s no way he wouldn’t sniff out the smallest inkling of deceit.

“I don’t know anything for sure,” you sigh, “I was...shown some bits and pieces. Been trying to make sense of it.”

“A vision.”

_Weeeeell..._ “If that’s what you’d call it. I’m just scared of what might happen.”

Later, you’d think back of it as a pretty decent hug, but in the moment you  a re more concerned with continuously breathing as Thor pulls you into a crushing embrace.

“Get some rest, little one,” he smiles tiredly after pulling back, “you have my word I’ll look into this matter.”

  
  


...  Loki ...

He hears her return to the suite, mainly due to the subdued curses as she struggles to undress. Then the few candles he had left alight are snuffed before [Y/N] settles into bed with a sigh. The single candle in the servant’s tiny room creates sharp borders between shadows and illuminated areas unless Loki exhales particularly hard.  _I’m not sighing._

Since the woman had stormed out of the quarters, the Jotun has tried to calm himself down and ignore the screaming in his marrow as guilt eats through the bones.  Eventually, he succumbed and went to bed only to lie and stare up into the ceiling. A thin blade slips between his fingers in repeated somersaults until he grabs the knife by the handle only to redo the whole thing.

Counting his breaths, he reaches well into the hundreds before daring to step into the suite. The slanted moonbeams illuminate patches on the floor and bed, glistening on the silken covers shaped like a woman. He does his best to ignore it, he really does. Moving silently,  Loki picks up the scattered layers of the dress to straighten them out and hang them on the other side of the screen. In the cold light, it is difficult to ascertain the colour of the fabric but he remembers it clearly from when he saw her across the room during the feast where he had been expected to assist – a task  perfectly suited to get him closer to the servant and listen to their gossip, of course. He has to shake himself from the tainted memories before continuing the silent duties.

Once, not too long ago, these were details he didn’t bother with. The work of lowly servants, there was no need for a prince to worry about picking up after himself unless he chose to, and while Loki was (and is) meticulous he had certainly never expected to be the one doing this for others. _Beneath me!_ Grumbling within, he still lingers to let the delicate ribbon from [Y/N]’s hair slither between his fingers.

It’s a welcome diversion to imagine how it would be to untie the bow and set her locks free. Or to be the one slipping the straps of the dress off her shoulders and watch it hang on for dear life by her bosom. _To gently tug at it, bearing the nipples for me to admire._ He can see it in his mind. What Loki doesn’t notice are the eyes watching him.


	24. Let Your Ego Die

... Loki ...

Emerging from the bathroom, where he has folded the towels and placed the laundry in a basket, it’s as though something has shifted. The trickster’s first instinct is to look to the shadows – eyes and ears alert in fear of intruders – not a muscle moves until he is certain the only difference is the passing darkness from a cloud obscuring the moon. _Good,_ he sighs.

“Got me worried there for a moment,” the voice is dry with sarcasm.

And now he sees it: pushed up by the elbow, [Y/N] is watching from the bed. Returning her gaze with a lift of the brows, no evidence spring s at him that she may still be angry. In fact, the woman doesn’t show any emotions at all.  _Hm. _

“Did I wake you?” He has to bite back the usual endearments, not daring to poke the sleeping fire.

“No.”

_Hmm-hm._ “Then I suggest you go to sleep, ‘tis late.”

“And _I_ suggest we talk,” she counters, sitting up properly while tugging the covers up her armpits.

Clearly, she does not intend to negotiate – something she  emphasises by gesturing to the  foot end of the bed –  and Loki silently obliges, curious to see where this will go. 

“Firstly.” She even holds up a finger to show the count and no digits has ever been so perfect at the job. “You owe me an apology -” she continues without leaving room for interruption - “because of your behaviour earlier. I might _just_ be ‘mortal’ as you say, but I’m no less worthy of proper respect than you.”

Her words hang in the air, laden with stern expectancy Loki can’t resist. “I was out of line.” She blinks in surprise. “I take full responsibility for my outburst and the frustration fuelling it. Please forgive me.”

As if unsure how to react, [Y/N] fidgets with the silk covering her.  _Did she not consider this outcome?_ But the Jotun hides his amusement, simply waiting for her to continue. Sitting in silence, he can feel her toes wriggle underneath the cover. [Y/E/C] gleams in the silvery light when she dares shoot him a glance.

“Yes. Uhm. Right...” A heartbeat more and she has regained her posture, including the nigh regal air which could enslave any man. “After...after our...argument, I went for a walk and I met your brother.” Loki keeps his mouth shut while every muscle tenses at the mention. “He even asked me what was wrong...guess what I told him?”

_That you despise me now?_ “How can I know?”

“Because you should know that _I_, at least, _still_ want to avoid my world being shattered by Thanos.” It’s a hiss but might as well have been a kick in the balls, leaving a bitter taste in Loki’s mouth. “I didn’t _lie_, but I did as you wanted and hinted having seen a larger threat, someone worse than _you_ wanting something from Earth.”

_Did you, now?_ “Show me,” and his hand is already moving to the soft skin of [Y/N]’s forehead, only hesitating long enough for the minimal nod.

  
  


... Reader ...

A scene underwater unfolding before you to reveal every action, you re-watch with horror as storms of emotions form waves around the two figures speaking on the balcony.  _Shit!_ Praying to anything that might hear for Loki only to pay attention to the spoken words, you recognize the hurt, disappointment, and longing raging around the memory of Thor and yourself. 

Too proud to give that part of the magic a second thought, you had wanted to prove your accomplishment and forgot the sharing of feeling. Maybe the terror seeded in you the previous (and only) time Loki worked this spell has had time to feel as though it truly is yours, blinding you to the fact that the god would have had access  if the stream had been reversed .

Has access.  _Fuck._

Gasping for breath, you resurface from the recollection and immediately swallowed by his eyes. Crinkles around them prove that he’s smirking. _Probably about to make fun of me. Torment me. I’m too easy._ This would be the moment where a smart person pulled away rather than letting his hand skim along your hairline before the fingers dig into the mess of locks to cradle your skull softly.

And then he pulls you closer ever so slightly.

And you can’t breathe.

And what you thought was mocking mischief gleaming in his eyes is drowned by the velvety blackness of his pupils.

And then he’s on his feet, growling at a knocking on the door while you still sit with your lips slightly parted as if waiting for the impossible. It’s the golden shimmer of his disguise reappearing that jerks you back in action, nodding when Loki looks over his shoulder at you for confirmation that he can open the door.

You had half expected to find Thor waiting, not the sight of Fandral and an exasperated Sif behind him.

“M’laddy!” Despite the fervour in the blond’s cry, you can still hear the slurring. “A mmmoment of y’r time, I be-eg.”

At least he doesn’t try to enter the room...though that could be because Sif has a strong grip on his shoulder now. “My apologies, short of knocking him out I could not stop him from coming here.” She sounds sincere.

_Bet you didn’t actually mind knocking him out, though._ “No worries...I wasn’t sleeping yet.”  You ignore the tension in Loki’s shoulders, well aware he just wants his old friends gone. “What’s going on?”

A silent battle of wills unfolds in seconds before your supposed servant steps aside for the Asgardians, rushing to find a robe which he holds up as a shield between you and any spying eyes when you step out of bed until your arms slip through the loose sleeves and you can tie the silk around your body.

In the meantime, Fandral has managed to shake Sif off and he probably would have slammed the door in her face if she wasn’t quick enough to catch it.

“They _mock _me,” the drunk man tries to explain, “they shay our l-love isnn’t real...”

“That’s not -” Sif sighs deeply – “We might have said it was...one-sided.”

_Great. _ As if things aren’t complicated enough now the living proof of how deep you’ve been digging your own grave is standing in your room at crap in the night, demanding an explanation while Loki looks at you with a smirk hidden from the others – a smirk that only can mean “told you so”. 

“Fandral.” You step a bit closer, aware of your only ally moving with you. “You’re a very kind, and sweet man.” _Even attractive,_ a thought adds. 

Even in the relative darkness, you can see his eyes are big and round when he looks at you. “Butchu don’t love me...”

“I’m sorry if...I don’t know about Asgardian dating.” Confusion blooms in his and Sif’s eyes. _Language barriers be damned._ “I mean...courting. Where I’m from, a dinner date doesn’t equal eternal love, for instance...it’s a...a way of getting to know someone.” At least there is understanding mixed with the dejection. “I like your company, yours _and_ the others’...but no. I’m sorry.”

F andral’s eyes grow distant, his body sort of deflating while your words seem to roll through his brain. Then he straightens (only wobbling slightly) and smiles politely. “I can acshept that.  Don’t...don’t think less o’ me for finding you loverly...lovely...” He contemplates the feel of the word before nodding happily. “You shall have my friendship instead. Good night, m’lady.”

  
  


...  Loki ...

As soon as the Jotun has closed the door behind the uninvited guests, he can hear [Y/N] plop onto the bed with a groan. _You and me both._ And still he can’t help but rejoice, the elation of an unknown victory burning through his body and fuelled when he turns to see the woman splayed on the bed with an arm over her face.


	25. Heaven Upside Down

... Reader ...

_What a mess._ At least tonight didn’t devolve into a veritable catastrophe when strictly considering the plan: Thor has agreed to look into your worries, and Fandral...well, maybe he’s used to rejection because he handled it surprisingly well while Sif didn’t even bat an eye.  But that still leaves one problem.  _Loki._

L owering the arm slowly, the room appears brightly lit in comparison and silvery light (finally escaped from the cloud) lands on Loki’s bare feet and the leather trousers before getting cut off where the tunic begins. It’s only now, you notice how the thin fabric softens every shadow of his toned body;  h is arms are crossed, sleeves rolled above the elbows in a futile attempt to grant more room for the god rather than ripping. 

The stance says it all. _ This is a man that just got proven right._ You’ll never hear the end of it,  but maybe you can forego some of the humiliation by admitting your mistake.

“Yes,” you sigh as you roll to have your back to him, “I might not have meant to...but clearly Fandral expected more. I get your point from earlier..._okay_?”

“He falls in love with everyone, be it romantically or physically.” 

Loki’s non-answer worries you despite your resignation. “ I didn’t realize.”

“How could you? I didn’t warn you.” You can feel the bed dipping behind you. “But we both know my outrage had nothing to do with his desires.”

_Not again!_ “Didn’t I just tell you?! Didn’t I  _prove_ I’m  _not_ attracted to him?!” 

Turn ing back angrily, you almost headbutt him because he’s crept  right over to you . Rather than letting you pull away again, he snakes an arm behind your back to plant a large hand between the shoulder blades and for the second time tonight, the distance separating the two of you is reduced to  an inch or two .

_Don’t tease me, please._ The prayer dies before it’s voiced, swallowed by the burning need to remain in his embrace no matter what.

“No more games, pet,” the god whispers, “I _know_ you desire me...care for me, even. Crave me.” _Yes, yes I do!_ “Yet...you are too innocent to realize these feelings are not unrequited.”

Somewhere in another dimension, a record scratches to an abrupt halt. _Not? Does that...?_ Searching his face for any sign of mockery, you’re afraid what to find. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” 

Each of the words land on your lips, preceding the initially careful brush of Loki’s. You don’t object. Your brain is rapidly turning into mush, only capable of registering how marvellous it is and urging you to  reciprocate. 

  
  


...  Loki ...

H e first hears the minuscule whimper and fears the woman is coming to her senses until the sound morphs into a moan which spills out as she parts her lips, giving him access to sweep beyond the initial plumpness with his tongue.  _Perfect._

W arm fingers cart through his hair, nails scraping to release a purring from deep in Loki’s chest  and the vibrations pass into [Y/N]’s when he uses his body to press her back into the mattress. Pliant. Giving. Already, her legs have parted to accommodate him as he settles there to hold himself above the rapidly breathing  figure suspended by an arm  and hand , his other  already  alleviating the burning need to discover the slopes and expanses of this feminine world beneath him.

“Sweetling.”

She sighs in answer, grasp shifting to pull herself closer only to be pushed back gently – otherwise he can’t undo the haphazardly tied bow of the robe  and ruck up the shift – smiling mischievously as Loki’s tunic slides across his back and over his head. Only a heartbeat separates them. A heartbeat long enough to stoke the chaotic desire in the  Jotun before [Y/N] is back in view again. 

Skin against skin. Rough hands gliding across erotic curves with the promise of  satisfaction. It’s an unspoken vow, only brought into existence as a quivering sigh leaves the woman’s lips while the god’s find and caress her nipples. Soon enough, she’s arching beneath Loki, tugging at the belt without fully paying attention to the task.

“Tsk tsk,” his admonishing whisper stalls her movement, “not yet.”

A deep kiss, heavy with longing. _She is the altar __at__ which I worship._ Already, the heat from [Y/N]’s body is seeping into his own, making him feel..._alive._ _Nothing compares._ And he could do this forever, trail along the centre line from mouth to navel.

_But not now._ “ Sleep, my dove.” He slips from the bed before she realizes what he is saying. “ Your studies await you in just a few hours.”

The fury in her eyes as she sits up sends shivers down Loki’s spine. “ Get back here!” 

Hand outstretched, demanding. Lips puffed. Desire oozing from every pore. The sight nearly has the former prince crawling on all four to return to her, and even now the heat of [Y/N]’s vitality still lingers within him. Drawn, like a moth to the flame, his body is betraying him and propelling him just within reach  without the consent of reason – a mutiny the Jotun cherishes when a kiss is stolen from him.

It takes all of his willpower to cast the spell but once sleep finally overtakes the woman, Loki gently lies her down and drapes her wraps her shapely body in the shift and robe before pulling the cover to her shoulders. A furrow wrinkles between her brows only to disappear after a gentle kiss to the area.

“Sleep, dearest,” he whispers.


	26. Cupid Carries a Gun

... Reader ...

The word pissed does not even begin to describe what you’re feeling but at least you have the satisfaction of the weather matching your anger. Sitting in the queen’s parlour in the middle of the day, it has still been necessary to light candles all around while the dark storm outside pelts the windows with rain. Now and then a flash proceeds a roll of thunder, making you wonder if bad weather in Asgard are just a thing of nature or if it always requires Thor to be busy. Mostly though, you curse Loki.

“Where’s your mind at?” A book taps you lightly on top of your head, calling you back to the present.

“My apologies, your highness,” you mumble. _Man, I gotta be such a disappointment right now._

Whatever she might think or not, the woman smiles sweetly as she puts the books and parchments away. “Perchance it would soothe your troubled mind if you told me what is wrong?” She stops your protests with a graceful hand. “What has he done this time?”

“...uhm?”

“My son. Over the years, I’ve had to deal with many whom he’s vexed. Mostly Thor, of course...” For a moment Frigga is the one lost in past events. “So...let me hear it.”

_I can really, really NOT tell her that!_ Heat rises in your cheeks, possibly blocking your airways to prevent any words from escaping. “ Nonono, it’s okay! Really! There’s no need -”

“Ah, I see...it’s what he didn’t do...”

_I need to change the focus of this conversation! _ “He uhm he magicked me to sleep!”

A devilish smirk graces the queen’s face. “Do you want to get even or do you want to prevent it from happening again?”

“Both?” _If that’s an option._

“Fortunately for you, this distraction is well timed. As you know, none of the lore and theoretical works I’ve procured has been of much use yet, and your description of your gift’s flow has gotten me thinking of the Älfir powers of old. I have managed to find one tome, however the translation is not completed.” She pulls you to your feet, urging you towards the softer seats rather than the desk. “Perhaps, what I will teach you now about Loki is of better use, even.”

  
  


...  Loki ...

_She should be back by now._ The raven-haired man scowls at the setup of the room: everything is perfectly clean, a thick log is burning happily in the fireplace, and a light snack awaits on the little table near [Y/N]’s favourite chair.  All that’s missing is...her.

N aturally, Frigga could have chosen to extend the lesson’s time frame or perhaps invite the guest to participate in some social hubbub. Loki would like that. It’s a much more comfortable thought than if the Midgardian has been swept away by the Warriors Three, for instance. Or his brother. 

As evening creeps in, it becomes increasingly difficult to remain optimistic.  _Maybe she has decided to leave on her own accord?_ The new concern is uncomfortable the way it gnaws at his heart. 

Purposely staying out of [Y/N] way, he had observed her discreetly during the morning, praising himself for the sensible decision to do so because the woman was seething with anger  and he had no illusions: it was due to his actions.  After all, Hel hath no  f ury like a  w oman  s corn. A nd so, it’s with a smidgen of anxiety in his guts that he conjures the disguise and sets out to find the stubborn woman in question.

Scurrying along the hidden passages, he asks the few servants he encounters on the way to the queen’s chambers initially before the gardens, the arched balustrade over viewing the courtyard, and eventually the grand hall. That’s where he finally gets a useful reply.

“The lady is at the library,” a maid informs.

_Oh, really?_

  
  


... Reader ...

There aren’t a lot of books you can read in the Asgardian palace library but in all honesty, you didn’t end up in one of the plush seats in the corner for the sake of the literature but rather due to the quiet. Frigga has given you a lot to think about on top of a practical assignment.

“A song for light,” you mutter under your breath, staring at your fingers which are doing anything but create a glow, “light...light....”

You’re too caught up to notice a slinking figure watching you through the nearest bookcase. _If I were a glow worm, what would I sound like?_ But the only experience you have with things that both sing and shine is Lumiere and you’re fairly sure belting out “Be Our Guests” won’t do much good in this case.

“Perhaps milady ought to retire for the evening?” a warped voice startles you.

_Freaking stealth-god! _He might not sport the usual mesmerizingly green eyes, but you know it’s Loki simply due to the way he looks you over. _Well, keep looking ‘cause you don’t own me and you can’t order me to do anything. Ha!_ The silence stretches, and you recognize the beginning ticks revealing the Asgardian’s impatience – no disguise can hide that – and you have to bite back a smile as you turn to look out the tall window again.

“Lady [Y/N],” he tries again, this time stepping over to stand right next to you.

W aving a hand dismissively, you send a thankful thought to Frigga. “ Not now, I’ve got some...things on my mind.”

“Allow me to ease the mental burden.” Only a thin veil separates the sarcasm from being too obvious.

The footsteps of someone coming nearer reduces the simmering standoff to silent glares, then a librarian rounds the bookcase and bows discreetly to you, informing that he will take his leave unless you have any requests. Oh, it’s tempting to invent some reason for the man to stay, forcing Loki to keep up the charade, but for the life of you you can’t think of anything and have to watch him walk away.

“Thought you could escape me by coming here, hmm?” the god hisses into your ear.

It sends shivers down your back which you do your best to suppress. “I’m not surprised you don’t know this but I actually like reading. I love books. Perhaps you should have bothered to learn a bit before assuming you’ve got me figured out.”

His eyes gleam and a grin begins to split his face. “Is that so? You presume I do not know you?”

“Fine! What’s my favourite food?” When he doesn’t answer, you power on: “Yours was roasted duck with figs and nuts when you were little. On Alfheim, you seemed to adore the salad with warmed goat cheese and honey.”

“That wasn’t goat cheese.” He doesn’t manage to derail the conversation so he tries with a new tactic, lowering his voice to an obscenely sensual level. “What I _do_ know is how your breathing hitches as I pinch your nipples. It’s no secret to me that your hips would buck if I were to slip my fingers between your soaked folds...and, my pet, even now the scent of your arousal is rising as rapidly as last night.”

“Yet all you do is talk,” you bite back, “empty words but nothing to show for it!”

Y ou know you’ve pushed him past that line the history books and hindsight so clearly shows when his eyes grow dark, emerald and ruby peeping through the illusion. His fingers tangle into your hair while the other hand pulls the glowing cube from the air and the world is obscured by the cloud of magic.


	27. Eat Me, Drink Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no proofing. Sorry but meh

... Reader ...

The swooping rush in your belly is extended as soon as the blue cloud dumps the two of you on solid ground by Loki pushing you backward. Your back against cold metal, you manage a peek at the surroundings despite the grip the god has in your hair. There’s only a hint of distant light coming through the windows because there’s very little room between the hull and the cave wall, but it is enough to reveal sharp lines in a familiar design.

“The ship.” Is he taking you away from Asgard?

“Yes,” he chuckles darkly, body suddenly flush against you and his other hand digging into your waist just shy of painful, “I intend to have you screaming my name, begging for more as I ravish you.”

_Heh._ “Words.” Your sneer makes his brows arch beautifully. “Empty words.” 

“Have care, [Y/N] -” he begins with a deep growl.

“Or what? You’re all noise, like a mosquito buzzing in the night but just like an insect all you’ve done is leave an anno-”

Snarling at your  taunt, he latches on to the tender spot on your neck just below the ear. Teeth graze over your skin, leaving a sting that he soothes right away by kissing his way along your jaw before he claims your mouth.  _Claim._ There’s no better word for it as his tongue dances along your lips and tangles with yours,  nearly distracting from the new occupation of Loki’s hands that roughly are untying knots and bows in your clothes before pulling the dress down around your waist. Immediately, he busies himself with your breast s. Long fingers massaging them, pinching your nipples as his mouth draws the first moans from you by sucking, kissing, licking, biting . 

Half-dazed, you begin to fumble with Loki’s clothes, enjoying the simplicity of the tunic and leather trousers he has been wearing under the disguise, and it takes little time before his torso is bared to you and your hands skim the smooth skin of his ass (trousers abandoned mid-thigh).

“Impatient, pet?”

You love the smirk on his lips as he teases. Clearly, you’re not the only one wanting more because his erection is pressing against your pelvis, long and hard with the promise of filling the emptiness within. Managing to squeeze a hand between your bodies, you grab his cock and deliver a slow stroke from balls to crown.  _Fuck, he looks good. _ The thought makes you smile at the god who’s eyes have closed in bliss at the sensation...but then the trance breaks and he steps out of reach, yanking the dress so it pools around your feet before li terally lifting you over his shoulder as though you weigh nothing.

“Enough of your taunts,” he growls against your hip, allowing his teeth to dig in as he carries you to his cabin where he tosses you on the bed. “I’ll ruin you for all other men. I’m a _god_. You’d do well to remember that.”

“There you go with the _talking_ again.”

M oving up in the bed, you’re hyper aware of the state of undress Loki is seeing you in. The only scrap of fabric clinging to your body is the underwear – a flimsy scrap of silk barely covering you pussy and held on to your body with some lace – and, oh, does he like what he sees! Following you on hands and knees (trousers now discarded), the raven-haired man is upon you mouth first, kissing his way up your legs while paying extra attention to your inner thighs after noticing the sighs it elicits. 

The only problem is, every time you reach for him, the god bats away your hands. It’s annoying.  _I’ve not gotten him this far only to be denied touching._ Cool, smooth skin that screams for caresses of fingertips.  R opy muscles,  bunching and rolling with each movement as a testament to the strength he possesses even if he isn’t bulky like  his brother . No. The god’s body is made for endurance and flexibility. For fucking you into tomorrow in positions you’ve probably not even dreamed of. And you want it.

You’re just about to do something about it when the tip of his tongue delves between the folds, dragging the pooling wetness to your clit where he pauses, adds pressure, and then flicks it with a satisfied chuckle.

“You will get more...if you behave,” Loki smirks.

The taste of pleasure is still buzzing along your spine and you’re almost willing to do anything as long as it gets you more.  _Wait..._ You had had a plan before getting swooped up and dropped onto the bed.  _Push him._

“Of course,” your mocking tone makes him arch a brow, “throwing in some distraction rather than act. I should have known.” You’re aware that he’s allowing you to push him back with a foot against his chest, permitting you to get onto your knees and hover over him. “If I wanted a talker, I’d go to Fandral.”

The sound of the blond man’s name ignites something in Loki. You can see it instantaneously because his eyes flood with the colour of blood and the teeth revealed as he snarls looks more like those of a predator. Large hands grab you by your hips and drag you on top of him, expertly positioning your soaked cunt against the tip of his cock.

“Never...” he pulls you down, the slow drag against your inner walls delicious - “...compare me...” with a last tug and thrust, Loki bottoms out - “...to him.” In a heartbeat, he’s got you back against the wall, lips growling against your mouth. “I’m a _god._” 

H olding you up, he pulls back almost completely before rutting into you at a pace that has your back arching and eyes rolling. The sheer force pushes you to the very edge because you know that a part of him is still trying to rein in some of the power in an unspoken wish not to hurt you. 

  
  


...  Loki ...

His breath had been stolen and each attempt to regain it is shattered by the magnificent tightness of [Y/N] and her reaction to every thrust. Warm heat undulates around the Jotun’s cock in an attempt to draw him over the each prematurely while the gorgeous woman arches, present s her bosom for Loki to prey on greedily. _ Who am I to deny her?_

Eagerly, he licks and bites at the nipples  but barely manages to coax more than a half-swallowed moan from her lips.  Loki grabs her by the jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes.  _I see._ The challenge is blazing like a fire in her gaze. 

A squelch fills the d im cabin as he withdraws, tossing the insolent woman onto the bunk again. This time, however, he leaves no time for her to taunt but embraces the straight legs against his own chest before leaning over her. For a split second, the male lingers with the tip of his cock at the entrance to heaven as he looks for the moment realization dawns upon her...all he gets is a wicked smile, empowering the thrust of his hips as he slams in.

_Ravishing. Open mouthed_ , yet silent.  _Perfection._ Hands clawing at his shoulders, nails leaving angry trails.  _Mine._ Tight, wet, already quivering with the need for release. 

But Loki keeps the speed controlled this time as he sheds the last layer of disguise and reveals the real him. The Jotun.  _The monster._ Ridges rise, flooding his skin with the wintry colour and for once...he embraces it rather than hate it as his claws on one hand curl around her wrists, stretching  [Y/N] , exposing her even now as she willingly succumbs to the mercy of the beast within. A whimper breaks the relative silence as the Jötun markings have decorated his erection.

“Look at me,” he growls.

She obliges. Had he expected fear? Confusion? What Loki is treated to is an appreciative smirk.

“I see you.” Slowly bottoming earns him a gasp. “Finally.”

Cock punching out a steady speed – fast enough to make the woman breathless and slow enough for her to feel each inch and ridge – Loki fucks her steadily further up the bed until the each roll of his hips elicits drawn-out moans and ragged praises that never could have sounded sweeter than they do coming from the mortal’s lips. Balls tight, abdomen clenched, he drags her to the very edge and keeps her there until...

“Please! _Loki!_” [Y/N] begs with lust-blown eyes locked on him.

Claws scrape lightly towards her pelvis, drag through the short curls to where their bodies meet and he finds her clit with the pad of a finger. He has to fight himself to keep the pressure steady as the new stimulation sends a shudder through her perfect body. _Almost._ _Aaalmost._

Then it happens. The epicentre of an earthquake buried inside [Y/N] sends the shock waves into Loki too, causing him to thrust deep and hard as she clenches around his cock.

The moan transforms into a scream, “_Loki!_ _Yeah!_”

The tremors sends the Jotun tumbling after the human over the edge of bliss.

  
  


...  Reader ...

Gasping for air, you don’t even feel close to being in a real world._ Fuck...that was amazing._ Slumped on top of you, resting with his hips between your thighs lies a god whose appearance fades back to the pale person you first met in your own apartment. You had hated him then. _Now I love him._

“Mmmm, my dear,” Loki mumbles against your neck, “your scream was sweet music.”


	28. The Reflecting God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I've already used that chapter title...oh well...

... Loki ...

Stretching satisfyingly, he revels in the soothing heat from the body snuggled up against his side. Hair mussed from the sleep and with red lines from the wrinkled pillow jarring the pretty face, she's a vision to behold. They've slept (or in Loki's case rested) for a few hours after the debauchery and nothing would appease him more than a full night's peace in [Y/N] arms. Unfortunately, some things cannot be.

Repositioning, the former prince cradles her as best he can. "My dear," he whispers into her ear, "darling, you must wake now."

She whines softly at first, resisting the continued cooing and the strokes he lavishes her with, but eventually his tenacity wins. Blinking owlishly, the woman studies his face as if for the first time before reality catches up with her in the form of a bashful smile which quickly grows as he pecks a kiss onto her forehead.

"So that's the trick," the minx hums in delight.

"To what?"

She wins time by burying the pretty nose of hers in his hair. Still, Loki can feel the grin against the shell of his ear before she whispers: "I get laid if I annoy you enough."

A split second later, she's pinned beneath the jotun who bites teasingly at the side of her neck before drifting lower and getting distracted - he had intended to scold her, torment her sweetly, but [Y/N] arches her back so prettily when his ministrations elicit a sigh that he is lost.

...

Night still reigns, barely, when the two of them reappear in the guest chamber in Valhalla. Legs still weak from the latest exertion and eyes heavy-lidded and full of an unspoken acceptance of reality.

"Allow me to draw you a bath, pet."

Of course, she doesn't object but follows him to the grand bathroom and her cooperation continues when the tub has been filled and Loki frees them both of the hastily reapplied clothes. The water embraces the pair with a puff of steam that clings to their faces as a delicate sheen of droplets.

  
  


... Reader ...

If all there was to the world was the heat as you nestle between Loki’s thighs with your back against his stomach then you’d live happily forever, and for once you know what the god feels because a tune drifts from that sinful mouth as he spreads the soap across your skin, paying attention to and caressing even your little fingers. He’s content. A quasi-erection serving a both a reminder and a promise, but for now both of you are too worn out for anything else than lazying about in the bath.

The foreign melody lulls your senses and you’re only partially aware that you echo the lilts and falls until you carry the second voice, wordlessly at first, which eventually grows and becomes something more. Words you don’t know speak clearly to you about safety, a home that’s more than four walls and a roof...and something you don’t understand. Loki listens, now and then kissing your hair as he continues tending to your body.

...

“What are we doing?”

Your raven-haired glances up at you from where he’s sitting in the shade of a tree. “You are supposed to study or the queen may loose her patience, little mortal.”

“You _know_ what I mean.” Rolling your eyes at him has become one of your most trained abilities. “We’re hiding, nice and safe here in...on Asgard,” you explain, finally getting his full attention, “but Thanos is still out there!”

“I know.”

Of course he knows. The disowned prince has suffered more at the hands of the purple maniac than you have.  _Is he even safe here?_ There’s no doubt Odin would want to seek some sort of twisted justice against his ex-son, but it’s unclear to you if he’d go as far as to abandon the man to someone like Thanos. Either way, plenty of people seem to be standing in line to deliver a kick of two as revenge for former slights. Yeah, Loki from the past has complicated things for present day Loki.

“Hopefully, my br-Thor will return with news...I hear rumours that he has been hunting down old lore and is planning to visit the ancient sites of creation throughout the realms.”

“Oh?”

“Yes...I’m surprised none of your new frie-”

The sound of voices coming closer silences the supposed servant, forcing you both into the roles you’ve adopted since your arrival to Valhalla – even after it has become common knowledge that you’re a Midgardian, everyone still treats you as near royalty which you suspect you can thank both your ties to Alfheim and the queen’s attention for.  As such, you should be getting used to the discreet bows Hogun and Fandral offer you when they appear from the rose garden.

“M’lady [Y/N].” Fandral smiles so sweetly you’d almost believe you didn’t turn him down at all. “We hoped to find you here.”

Returning their gesture with a nod and a wave towards the empty seats, you wait until they’re seated before replying, “Do I dare ask why?”

“Certainly, although you may also be saddened at the news we bri-oomph!” The blond man is (temporarily) silenced by an elbow in the side.

“Beg you pardon,” Hogun takes over, “Thor has asked us to accompany him. As promised upon hearing your plea, he is seeking out the truth in the hopes of preventing more horrors from happening.”

No words escape you because nothing can really express the mad hope flaring in your chest at the idea that the God of Thunder trusts you enough and loves the tiny planet called Earth to the extend that he’ll figure out a mystery like the one you’ve handed him.

“Don’t fret,” Fandral assures you and places a hand on yours, “you are safe here from Loki and any potential collaborators he may have.”

A  bitterness burns your marrow in a way you’ve never felt before. “I’m not afraid of Loki...but whomever drove him to the threshold of madness?  _That_ ’s my living nightmare.”

The two men exchange a look you can’t decipher before bidding you farewell. They aren’t sure when they’ll return or if the expedition will prove useful, however they trust Thor’s judgment in so far as the cause is important.

“Told you so,” the God of Mischief taunts quietly as you look after the retreating Asgardians.

_Hrmph. _ “Behave, servant, or you’ll find yourself with an endless amount of tasks and no sleep tonight.”


	29. The Gardener

... Loki ...

The appearance of a gardener (unknowing lent to him) serves its purpose, allow ing Loki to enjoy the quiet familiarity of the queen’s private garden. Although slightly chaotic, the place is pristine and only a few changes has been made since the Jotun had walked here freely –  only rarely at this hour where the night is fading and the dew is starting to weigh heavy on the few unsprung buds. Stopping to admire the droplets along the mid-lines of a hosta’s leaves,  a shimmer in his periphery makes him pause.

“They have grown since last you were here,” Frigga’s voice offers tamely. 

_ Hollow. _ Not noticeable to anyone but the wielder of the same kind of magic as hers but enough for Loki to understand that she isn’t really there. If he were to turn to her, if he would try to embrace her like he longs for... _ empty air. _ It is much safer, then, to bend and poke the droplets on a dusty-green leaf into motion down the stem.

“I presume you’re...-” for a moment the Jotun’s voice threatens to falter, but he manages to recover -“you’re doing well?”

There’s a slight hitch in the queen’s breathing, one that sends an icy needle deep into his heart. “As well as can be expected...I’m certainly delighted with my new student.”

“She hasn’t progressed, though...”

“Give her time.”

“We might not _have_ time,” he snaps before taming always present frustration.

Admittedly, the last few days the incessant nagging in his mind has quieted somewhat.  _ And I have [Y/N] to thank for that. _ She calms him. Soothes him. Not to mention the many trysts have sated him physically – a fact the raven-haired male’s body seems to forget each time he lays eyes on the woman.

“Son...” Frigga’s hand glitters as it passes through his shoulder. “Her magic is different from ours. Understanding it, let alone controlling it, requires a perfect balance between emotions and logic...try to praise her for what she _has_ accomplished rather than berate her for her shortcomings.”

“Accomplished?” There’s an inkling of annoyance in Loki’s question even if curiosity wins.

Standing to finally face his mother, he recognizes the mischievous twist of her subtle wrinkles.  _ She knows something I don’t. _ In itself a useless statement, as the queen always has known more and has the wisdom to use the knowledge advantageously.

“A new song,” she explains, “of trust and safety...of love transcending lust.”

A non-existent fragrance of soapy water on wet skin fills Loki’s brain,  and he can see Frigga knows that he finally has understood it  even as she whispers goodbye and the figure dissolves with a shimmer.

  
  


... Reader ...

You would’ve preferred to dine at the great hall for a chance of striking up conversation with the people of the court, but apparently it’s only used for the great feasts. On normal days, Asgardians have their meals in their own homes or quarters which in turn leaves you with very little socializing and even less chance of snapping up any news on Thor and his friends.

“How long can it taaake?” you sigh, dramatically plopping onto the bed.

The maid who has been assigned to help you with dressing and such, turns from the wardrobe. “I beg you pardon, m’lady?”

“Sif. Prince Thor. Those guys!” The explanation is vague at best (mostly because you hadn’t intended to complain out loud). “I don’t really have friends here, y’know?”

“It must indeed be lonesome for you, m’lady.” The last bit of clean linen is returned to its designated spot. “Such a long way from home...yet unable to return due to the danger of Pr-Loki.”

_ Danger...only way he’s a threat is by endangering me from walking normally. _ “I don’t fear him.”

“Then you are brave.” Finished with her duties, she bows and takes her leave, abandoning you to the grumpiness.

If you’d been anything like the strong people of this planet then you probably would have gone to spar with someone. If you had been like the athletes at home then a run might have cleared your head. As things are, all you’re left with as a physical outlet is fucking Loki’s brains out (which you admittedly do like), but he’s not even around right now and so all there’s left is to pace the room.

The footsteps create a rhythmic thudding, the fingers on your hips a rapid tattoo that vibrates from the bones to your lungs and mind where it conjures up a melody you’ve never heard before. It’s angry. No, it’s impatient and laden with heavy promises like the storm-clouds gathering outside.  A wind sweep s across the semicircular balcony and adds a morose tone to the song, lacing itself with the words you barely realize are coming from you. 

T he world waits for the storm to  be unleashed .

“Let it out,” a voice whispers in your ear as familiar, cold arms ensnare you.

You do. Everything that has been pent up inside breaks free and tumbles out of your chest. It’s chaotic and beautiful and dizzying. Purifying like the rain breaching the threshold and staining the gossamer curtains until they are weighed down but you are soaring on a release you didn’t know existed.

And as the downpour dwindles and becomes a drizzle (as the dark clouds depart to reveal the setting sun), you trust Loki to anchor you. Giving in to his soothing cool as it weighs you down and moves across and within your body, you welcome a different elation. 

...

His arms are wrapped around you – the only part of him you can see bathed in the moonlight – and his lips are tickling the small hairs in your neck. Even so, you can’t suppress the sigh.

“What is it, my darling?”

_I could say nothing,_ but you know he’d call your bluff. “It’s just...I wish I could do _something_.” You turn in his arms, but don’t trust yourself to meet his gaze. “The queen’s being an amazingly patient teacher...and I _know_ you also brought me here to be safe but...but I wish I was of use. Or that I actually managed to learn anything rather than be stuck on Magic 101.” You groan in frustration, “I’m useless!”

“Considering the display of magic tonight...’useless’ is not the term I’d use.”

“I know we’re a good match in bed but it’s a stretch to -”

Loki stops you with a kiss. “Not that, my fury, the storm.” You must have looked like the incarnation of a question mark because he smiles at you. “You created that, it was not a result of natural causes. I could taste your magic in the rain, smell it in the air.”

“...get _out_ta here!”

“I mean it.”

_Impossible._ Still, if you were honest, a part of you more than wants to believe it: it knows it. It’s a sensation similar to the moment when you know that you know something, but you can’t remember what it is and this time it’s not an itch in your brain but rather something in your entire essence that’s waiting for you to discover it.

“It will come,” Loki promises and his kisses grow languid, “but first...perhaps we must tire you out?”


	30. The Flowers of Evil

... Reader ...

A feeling of confidence has started to grow within you – with a subtle understanding of your magic, hope has returned and even minimal progress spurs you on – and you’ve begun to venture past the palace gates and into the city proper. Loki is with you every time but even without him it would’ve been hard to get lost as the layout is arranged with the freakishly obvious castle in the middle and a rainbow-patterned road cutting from there and all the way through the capital. _All the way to the end of the world._ You’ve followed the path to its physical end once, and found an observatory with a single Asgardian stationed. Although the golden-eyed guardian had seemed like good company, you couldn’t get yourself to stay at the edge of infinity for long...still: every time, your feet would inevitable carry you to the first pylon.

Today is no exception, and a brisk wind lifts the salty spray into the air and onto your skin. “So why hasn’t all the water fallen off?”

“Because...” Loki’s gaze dances on the waves as they rush to the edge in the distance.

“...because? You don’t know.”

“Of course I know! I’m just thinking of how to explain this in the simplest way possible so you might comprehend it.”

You scoff. “Is it a weird gravitational phenomenon? Or just magic?”

Glaring at you, it’s obvious you just dumbed it all the way down. “One doesn’t rule out the other.”

A handful of snappy comebacks to tease him are already offering themselves up for you to choose, but you’re distracted by the surge of light below your feet as it illuminates the bridge and extends briefly into the vastness of space. _Thor?_

“Someone’s arriving,” Loki confirms.

You’ve only made it ten meters or so before blur of red and silver streaks past, the wind nearly knocking you into the sea, and by the time you’ve realized what it was, the four heroes who set out with their prince are almost at your side.

“Forgive him, m’lady,” Fandral chimes, “the power of Mjølnir is not easily restrained.”

There’s no need to look to your lover to know he’s fighting back a dramatic eye-roll.

“Yeah, no...any news?” Falling into step with them, you try to glean just the tiniest hints from how they look. “Where did you go?”

A bit dirtier, hair slightly messy, and a few tears in their clothes is not enough to reveal anything. The grim expressions on their faces, however, sends a cold shiver down your spine.

“The information must pass through the right channels,” Sif shuts down the pending stream of queries. “Be patient a little longer.”

  
  


... Loki ...

_Patience._ Waiting for the opportune moment to strike has never been a problem for the God of Mischief and Chaos.  _Patience._ However, any virtue can  become torturous if it isn’t a choice, and the only reason Loki still slumps on the sofa is because he doesn’t want to rile up the Midgardian any more. Pacing back and forth, [Y/N] is wringing her hands whenever her arms slip from being crossed below her bosom. 

“Have a seat and a drink, my dear.”

Naturally, she ignores him. Shrugging it off, he contemplates distracting the woman from the situation – an option that could grant some relief for both of them if done right – but decides that there’s a time and a place for everything which (sadly) does not include this instance.

“[Y/N],” this time his voice is stern, “compose yourself. You must keep your head in the game and prepare for all possible outcomes.”

“Easy for you to say!”

_All bark and no bite._ As he hoped, the woman sits down next to the raven-haired Jotun and he holds out an arm for her to snuggle into. Against his skin, her body is burning with excitement and nervousness and the beating of her heart is strong like her will.

“There are several possibilities here, my sweet.” Loki plants a soothing kiss on her forehead. “Can you see them all?”

There’s a moment of hesitance before she sighs and buries her nose at the sensitive spot below his ear. “There are two...one where they have found information about Thanos and the objects he craves, and another options is that they have no news.”

“Mmm, go on.”

“If it’s the first then we will have to wait and see if we are informed of the findings and what Odin’s choice of action will be before we can plan our next move.” Lifting her face briefly, [Y/N] pecks a kiss to his cheek. “But if they’ve come back empty handed, we’ll have to find another way of figuring things out.” 

“Not to mention that _something_ did upset my br-Thor...but what?”

She  pouts . “My life used to be a lot simpler before you came along, y’know?”

Twisting to lean in over her, slowly pushing the gorgeous body down on the seat, Loki purrs tauntingly, “I know.” Kisses along her jaw before his lips trail towards the cleavage, and his own plan of temporary abstinence begins to evaporate. “It must have been boring. Mundane. Pointless as you hadn’t discovered the thrills I can grant you.”

The soft moan  that  escapes her makes the Jotun’s manhood quiver in growing anticipation.

A solid knock on the door startles them both and Loki has to bite back a growl at the disturbance – a growl that dies as they hear a guard announce the king’s request for [Y/N]’s presence in the Council Chamber.


	31. Redeemer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...proofing is overrated. I'll feel guilty about not doing it for a while, but then I feel guilty about a lot of crap that's not possible for me to do atm because of "life".

... Reader ...

You know the way to the throne room by now – actually, you could probably find your way around anywhere on the castle where you were permitted even if it might not be the most direct route – but this time you’re flanked by two guards sporting serious facial expressions, and it’s making you feel small and vulnerable.

Any hope of having Loki accompany you was dashed before there had been a chance to voice it: no matter who you would pretend to be, a simple servant would never be permitted along with their mistress to a meeting with the King of Asgard.

Shoulders tense, stomach tied into a knot of anticipation and worry, you have to fight your own body as you enter the grand room and stride towards the dais with the golden throne, passing more guards and a couple of figureheads from the Court of Valhalla. _At least Frigga’s there._ Standing to the left of the seat, she smiles at you with the same kindness as a grandmother while Thor (standing on the other side) tries to offer the same comfort despite the furrowed brows. His expression is the second warning you have before lying eyes on Odin and feeling the full weight of unspoken accusations.

“[Y/N],” he rumbles.

Trying to stick to formalities, you bow as neatly as you can before returning his greeting, “Your highness.”

“This will be your chance to be honest, mortal.” The one eye he has left glistens with restrained anger.

_Uhm._ Afraid to say too much, it would be lovely with a clear idea of what the king is talking about.

It’s Thor, who comes to your rescue. “After Loki abducted you, it does indeed seem he brought you to Alfheim. Why?”

“Their High Priestess was fatally ill. He hoped I could cure her in exchange for some favour.”

“Did you?” Odin demands.

“Yes.”

“And the favour?”

_Come on, poker face. Work for me!_ “I don’t know the details but it seemed not to work out as he had hoped.”

At least it’s not a lie, and that’s the comfort you cling to as the icy eye scrutinizes your every twitch and blink. Does he believe you? It’s impossible to tell as he huffs at no one in particular.

“He did not let you go after his failure.”

_He didn’t fail!_ Rather than say anything, you shake your head. “ He had business elsewhere. He probably thought I could be useful, still, but...”

“But?”

“I’m just a girl with a weird ability I can’t control. What good could I possibly be to anyone?”

Frigga is pressing a thumb into her other palm (a gesture that seems familiar) and you send her a silent apology because you know she has faith in you and your magic even if it’s slow work.

Her son, the oldest one, grants you a look heavy with pity before turning to his father. “These questions are irrelevant to my findings, father.” Gesturing to the room, but encompassing all of Asgard somehow, he urges the old king, “Thanos is seeking to destroy everything we hold dear...clearly this isn’t the time to talk with an innocent victim of a madman!”

“Silence!” Odin’s voice clashes against the hard stones on walls and ceiling and echoes among the arches lining the length of the room. None of the guards or nobles move. No one dares breathe until their king sighs. “Innocent or not, the Midgardian is the last known connection to Loki. If what you have learned is true, then he and Thanos conspired. Finding Loki, will grant us more than hear-say. We must capture him and make him talk.”

_ Oh, fuck. _ You’re a stranger to Asgardian diplomacy, but the choice of word seems to be universal for “torture the crap out of someone” and you’re not at all keen on the idea. 

“P-pardon me,” you try despite the lump in your throat, “I uhm I might not know _much_ uhh but if Loki still was in kahoots with Tha-this Thanos-guy...wouldn’t he have brought me there instead?” You notice Thor mouth the term you used to himself even if your focus primarily is on the king as he turns to you, willing you to explain. “While travelling with Loki, he tried to stay hidden like he was running _from_ someone. Now...I dunno a lot about space and alien people and stuff, but seems to me that he wouldn’t have to worry about most things and still...he fears Thanos.” You have to swallow the dryness before you can continue. “So, you say they were working together? I’m sorry, but what I’ve learned of your son since then...it just doesn’t add up.”

“Someone entrusted him with the Sceptre,” Thor tries to deviate from the fact that you just called the king out on having raised a disaster-child.

“Yeah. _And_ made sure Loki could get hold of the cube,” you sigh, “may-_maybe_ attacking New York was the carrot dangling before him because Loki generally does as he wants, right?” You continue without waiting for a reply, “But in the end, he’d still have to return the shiny toys, wouldn’t he? Thanos can’t honestly have trusted a stranger with something that important.”

Again, the king sighs.  “ Loki rarely did anything but what he wanted.” 

“To serve someone else...” Thor adds with the usual frown, “would have been against his nature.”

_ Loki’s gonna be so pissed if he finds out I made them guess he was forced to do anything. _ There’s no going back at this point though and all you can do is find Frigga’s gaze and bathe in the calm she harbours.  _ I’m sorry. _ If ever she were to find out about the horrors her child had gone through, the pain that broke him to the point where he accepted another person’s rule over his own free will...her heart would shatter. 

The sound of your name snaps you back to the two men.

“If Prince Thor had not found evidence to support your tale, then I would never have considered listen to the words of a simple mortal.” Pinned by the old man’s gaze, you find that you can’t move. “Yet...your speculations can cause more harm than good. I advice you show great care who you confide in from now on.”

“Yes, your highness.” _That’s it?_

Odin thumbs the heavy spear into the ground. “Leave. The council will convene now.”

Bowing once more, you turn and leave the throne room on jellied legs. Heart beating a frantic tattoo, fingers clasping the skirt to keep from trembling, and all you can think of is to be alone for a second.

You’ve made it  halfway to your chamber before your body is somewhat under control, but all the calming breaths are wasted the moment  something encircles you waist and drags you into a small alcove.

“Perhaps you should learn to guard your tongue,” a voice hisses into your ear.


	32. Sweet Tooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lack of proofing but compensation in the form of smut.

... Loki ...

Running his tongue over [Y/N]’s throat towards the jaw, he can feel the thrum of her pulse.  There’s a sharp sting of fear to her scent but he knows it’ll be overpowered by excitement in less than a minute – Loki’s little minx has an appetite that’s easily awakened when he holds her tight like this. One arm clutching her shoulders against his chest while the other slips to her hip to guide the rounding of a perfect ass against the god’s groin.

“I should punish you.” The words barely reach the woman’s consciousness. “Make you regret telling them about my fear and weakness.”

Tipping her head wantonly, she manages a smirk. “But you won’t.”

“No?”

She grinds softly into his pelvis. “No...’cause you see why it helps the cause.”

_Yes. However..._ “ Can’t  leave you without supervision , it seems.” 

With a swoop, he hoist s the mortal into his arms, bridal style, and it only takes a few minutes for him to hurry the rest of the way to their quarters and lock the doors.  Finally, he can drop the illusion of a servant .

“Oh, someone’s upset,” [Y/N] teases even as she bounces on the springy mattress where she’s been tossed, “whatcha gonna do? Spank me?”

A flicker of gorgeous images presents themselves in the jotun’s mind; all of them starring the perfect bottom glowing with heat as the owner hangs over Loki’s lap. Even without sound accompanying the fantasy, he knows how her voice would be raw and sultry as she promises to behave.

“Tempting,” he grunts, directing his thoughts to restrain the woman against a bedpost.

Stretched against the carved wood and hands tied above the head, she’s a sight to behold as she bites her lip coyly, sending shivers down the male’s spine and growing erection. She gasps, when he rips the dress off her without a care for the worth of the clothing.  _Sinful._ Breasts bared, thighs rubbing together to relieve thee mounting need. 

He takes his time to undress himself, ensuring to  feed her imagination. She moans when he clenches a fist around his straining cock.

“You may think you have a power over me, little pet,” Loki groans, “yet looking at you keening for my touch.” Stepping closer, he makes sure she can see the glimmer of pre-cum. “Your body betrays you.”

The smirk is devilish. “I s’pose you’re talking to yourself now?”

One hand buries in [Y/N]’s hair, messing up the locks and tugging her head backwards so he can ravish her throat, jaw, lips. The other one...the other hand’s fingers plays the woman like an instrument, coaxing moans and gasps from her as he strokes the folds of her sex. Pressing two digits against the clit, she’s on the verge of bliss much too soon and he releases her completely.

“N-noo!”

“Yes, my love,” he snickers, “you revealed some of my secrets.”

Puppy eyes. Pouty lips.  “ Le m me make it up to you!” She makes her intention clear by shifting the gaze to Loki’s cock.  _Good girl._

Even without gravity, she would have been on her knees before him within a heartbeat with one hand grabbing the base while the other finds leverage on his ass cheek. The days where he thought of [Y/N] as a tool, as a lesser person than he, are long gone and the Jotun knows the moment the lips wrap around the throbbing shaft that she isn’t and never will be at his mercy – rather it’s the opposite. _My queen._

  
  


... Reader ...

Not even in your wildest dream would you be able to fit all of Loki’s cock into your mouth even now when it’s still the pale and slightly smaller version. Slightly. Each time you pull your head backwards, increasing the vacuum created by hollowing cheeks, the tip of your tongue swishes around the hardness until finally flicking across the string underneath the cock head. _Oh! Oooh, hehe._ A stifled groan evades the god and you can feel the blood pumping underneath your fingers.

Slowly but surely, you increase the speed and abandon any attempt of neatness. Drool runs from the corners of your mouth and down over your chin, and your hair must be a mess now that Loki has buried a fist in it for balance – he doesn’t dare (or maybe he simply can’t) control the pace or depth as he supports himself against the bedpost whenever the knees buckle as you drive him towards the edge.

“No-_orns...”_ he rasps.

Letting the cock slip free of your lips with a plop, you leans back to look up at him through your lashes. “You like?”

“Don’t stop, please.”

_Begging?_ A crooked smile greets him when the god manages to open the eyes at the suddenly slow strokes. “I’m glad, you’re enjoying it, darling,” you purr, “ maybe keep that in mind next time?”

There’s a delay to the wrinkling of his brows as if it takes a second longer than normal for him to understand the words despite the sharp mind of his. “What...what are you talking about?”

Letting go of the raging erection, you get to your feet. “Consider this a hint of what you could have gotten more of...if you hadn’t dangled the empty threat of punishment.”

You know, you’re asking for trouble, but it’s worth it as long as Loki is reminded of who needs who.  _Who wants who...well that’s a tie._

Reaching out to palm his cock once more, your hand closes around nothing, swept aside by your lover’s hard grasp as he spins you around and pushes you onto the bed face first. Barely managing a single inhalation to recover from the shock, cool hands pull your ass into the air and aligns your throbbing core with the one part you want to feel deep inside you.

“_AH!_” Even muffled by the mattress, the gasp still fills the room as Loki fills you in one thrust.

He’s talking, probably admonishing you for the rebellious behaviour, but the words are lost on you now that your body is getting what it wants. Deep. Hard. Stretching.  Loki is holding back, somehow managing to maintain the Asgardian form with the sleek cock –  thankfully, or this would have been toeing past the verge of painful.

  
  


... Loki ...

Oh, he knows this perfect woman has played him and that he is merely giving [Y/N] what she craves, but how is he supposed to stop? Clenching around him, her inner walls are slick and burning hot. And the sounds! Such pretty moans and gasps.

When they reach the pinnacle of ecstasy and tumble over into bliss together, it’s with the names of one another muffled by flesh and pillows.


	33. Minute of Decay

... Reader ...

The hard knocking on the door sends Loki scurrying from your bed and the two of you barely have enough time to hide the evidence of the night’s activities before an even harder pounding sounds as a last warning. In a shimmer, the man you love transforms on the way to the  bathroom to ready a bath .

“Yes, yes,” you yell without bothering to hide the annoyance.

Thank goodness you manage to tie the dressing gown before looking up. In the door stands two burly guards, shining with their newly polished gold uniforms.

“You are hereby under arrest. Either come _quietly_ or we _will_ use force,” the one to the right grumbles.

“What?! _Why?!_” You can hear the water running in the bathroom, but the drop of temperature warns you that Loki has heard. _Can’t risk getting him caught._

“All-father’s orders.”

_ As if that explains anything. _ “Alright -” turning briefly to send your protective god a warning glare, you try to make him understand what you’re thinking -“I’ll come without a fuzz, though I hope you will allow me a moment to get cleaned and dressed?”

They hesitate, clearly unhappy to delay their king’s order while apparently kind enough to recognize how unpleasant it would be to get arrested while wearing a single flimsy layer of fabric hastily thrown on.  Sharing an awkward look, the men silently agree  on condition they get to check out the room and bathroom.  _ Probably checking for escape routes. _

“Very well,” one concedes when they’re done, “but be quick about it.”

A s soon as the door is  closed , Loki’s arms pull you close. “I’ll get you out of here,” he promises in a whisper.

“No.”

“If you think I’ll let Odin lock you up -”

Somehow managing to usher him to the bathroom, you frantically kick your brain into gear. “Running away will confirm any suspicions he might have. C’mon, do _you_ think he’d let me escape?” A huff and a shake of the head is the only answer to that. “It’s much better if I go along and find out what’s going on. Maybe it’s nothing and I can placate him.”

“Or maybe he _wi__ll_ throw you into the dungeons.”

“Then I’ll still be in a safe place _aaand_ -” you don’t let him get a word in -”you have your cover intact.”

A frown almost hides the emerald eyes. “This is not the time for you to worry about such details.”

It takes a moment before you can answer – both because of thinking of something smart to say and because of the water you’re splashing in your face. “It’ll be worse for both of us if they realize you’ve been here all this time.”

Loki’s voice is softened by as much by his emotions as by the towel. “You’ll have me stand by idly?”

“For now, yes.”

  
  


... Loki ...

A s soon as he wraps his arms around her,  h e dreads the moment he has to let the fierce mortal go. Warm and pliable against his own cold body, [Y/N]  has somehow managed to fill out the holes in his heart.  _And I haven’t realized their cavernous size until now when I risk losing her again._

W atching her leave, dwarfed by the guards, the darkness comes crawling back into Loki’s mind.


	34. Four Rusted Horses

... Reader ...

You’ve learned enough about the King of Asgard to know that you should expect the worse even if you’d told Loki to hope for the best. Still, nothing could have prepared you for the sight that met you when walking into the throne room.

Beside the usual entourage, is a newcomer.  On one of the lower steps of the dais stands a man whom you’d never imagined meeting again, at least not in the halls of Valhalla. The once bald head sports a dense patch of reddish hair shaven into a square on the top of the skull, and his outfit  is slightly different (altered to include leathery holsters crossing the broad chest) – at least he’s unarmed, it seems.

_Arox._

The king glances briefly at the man who nods. “That’s her.”

A rush of nerves shoot through your body and into your stomach as several guards leap to surround you with their weapons at the ready.

_Keep calm. _ “Your highness. Arox.” You fight the urge to swallow a dry lump in the throat. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Or  _ever_ .”  The grin on his face proves to you that he somehow intends to mess with the plan. “Last time I saw you was when you foiled my attempt at escape and delivered me back to Loki... then you disappeared. ”

Brows wrinkle in slight confusion: whichever way he had assumed this would go down did no include you admitting to knowing him or twisting reality subtly.  You will have to take care how far you push the truth – most liars get tangled in the web they spin, unable to remember what they’ve told who.

“That’s not...uhm...” You almost feel sorry for the guy as he tries to attune to the new way things look. “Esc-...you weren’t escaping.”

The butt of Odin’s spear, Gungnir, lands heavily on the floor and the resulting boom echoes through the hall. Bowing your head in an unspoken apology to the king, you recognize the ill temper that almost makes his beard bristle – it’s not entirely unlike Loki’s fits of venomous rage.  _Like father, like son._

Y ou notice how Frigga’s lips reduces to a thin line before she recomposes herself. “My king husband, perhaps we must compare each step of the respective perspectives in these account?”

It’s hard not to hold you breath as you wait for the one-eyed man to nod.

  
  


... Loki ...

Straining his ears, Loki curses the architects of old who ensured it was impossible to eavesdrop from the unseen corridors reserved for the servants. The throne room would under normal circumstances have been easy to slip into unseen but Odin seems to have doubled the guards at the arrival of the stranger.

_Stranger._

Truth be told, the once-prince would have preferred if it really were a new player in this game of charades rather than the former ally. _Ally...that gives him too much credit._ And yet, it appears as though recognition is exactly what Arox is owed. The man knows some things due to his temporary position as Loki’s right hand man. His only aid.

Recruiting him had been entirely dependant on the hope of thwarting Thanos, and there had been no reason to hide the rough outline of the plan to establish a base, rise an army, and eventually destabilize the Mad Titan’s power. Any details, however, had only been shared with the revenge seeking oaf as it became necessary.

_He does not know everything._ Loke is well aware that [Y/N] success stands and fall with her ability to highlight the gaps in Arox’s knowledge.

A rumbling thump makes the raven-haired head snap up once more. Through the small crack, Loki can see the distant figures wait and then bow before both outsiders are brought away by guards.

With his heart in the throat, Loki hurries along the passages back to the chambers to wait for his mortal’s return.


	35. Wight Spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's continue of the tradition of lack of proofing.

... Loki ...

Shadows drag across the floor in a snail pace. Distant voices from the  bustling city beneath the Halls of Valhalla swing into the air together with the sparrows and songbirds, oblivious to the nervous wreck pacing back and forth:  t he God of Chaos is riding a storm of his own as he waits for his love to return to the chambers.

M inutes stretch – thin and brittle like his patience – until it’s morphed into a quarter of an hour. Then half an hour.

No one comes.

His hands are red and white from being wrung too hard but Loki is oblivious to it...he can barely focus on maintaining the magical disguise.

Nearly than hour since his return, he considers leaving to track the mortal down. He can use the passages reserved for the servants. But if he did... _I might pass her by without noticing and then I won’t be here when she needs me. _ A short knock on the door which he answers with a sharp voice, and in comes one of the queen’s maids.

“All-Mother requests your presence at once,” the woman informs haughtily.

T he tone of voice grates against Loki’s nerves and he has to physically bite back the snarling rebuttal threatening to put the woman in her place. Instead, he nods and follows, his mind quickly consumed by the understanding of what is about to happen.

_Mother._

He has seen her, heard her, since their arrival to Asgard. Always at a distance or pretending to be ignorant of each other as much as royalty and an unsolicited servant would be. _So close and yet so distant._ Now that is about to change and although the maid walking in front of Loki wouldn’t be able to tell, the former prince’s mind is at an uproar and only his genetic heritage prevents him from having sweaty palms.

No one in this place knew him as well as Frigga did and while he’s loathe to admit it, the idea of facing her (especially after his actions against Asgard and Midgard) fills him with a foreign dread unlike anything he has experienced before. _Do you resent me?_ [Y/N] has never relayed any animosity, but there can be no doubt that the queen would not disclose everything to the visitor.

The doors to the All-Mother’s chambers are closed and as Loki pauses, waiting for the queen’s acceptance, he tries to slow his breathing and heartbeat.

Head bowed and gaze lowered, he doesn’t dare look around as the maid is excused after he’s been ushered in. Not even as a pair of dainty slippers and the spring-green silk of the gown comes into view.

“Oh...my boy.” It’s the softest of gasps, filled with years of pent-up motherhood. “Let me see you.”

Loki had had no intention of abandoning the magical disguise, yet now he finds he’s unable to resist his mother’s plea and as the golden shimmer dances around him, his vision threatens to blur. Digging his fingertips into the palm, the Jotun searches for a way to ground himself...but the calm only comes as a hand finds his and Frigga gently tilts his face towards her by his chin.

_Mother._

“Yes.” Apparently, he has spoken out loud, causing her to smile softly. “So much has happened since we last spoke...and today is no exception. Now listen: your [Y/N] is safe and comfortable, but the situation is dire and we can no longer afford to ignore each other.”


	36. Thingmaker

... Reader ...

Much to your surprise, Odin had decided not to throw you into the dungeons but rather confine you in a new room on one of the lower levels of the castle. It was smaller and less grandiose in its furnishings and design, but still comfortable. Even after the decadence of the guest chambers, you would have been perfectly capable of managing house arrest if it hadn’t been for one detail: _What’s Loki up to?_

Leaning on the windowsill, the view of the courtyard does little to distract you from your worries. You ought to be reading in some of the books the queen had made sure you got. Or perhaps you should be phrasing an airtight defence, taking into consideration any crazy things Arox or maybe even the king could throw at you.

_Who am I kidding?_ Sure, dismantling any argument the brute could come up with would be child’s play considering he has the mental capacity of a crushed grape, but Odin..._I need your brains, Loki._

You ignore the sound of voices outside the door, knowing full well that despite the lock, there will be guards in place  both to keep you in  plus particularly to keep a certain someone out.  That’s why you don’t expect the door to open, revealing a blond man with a  concerned smile.

“M’lady!” Fandral exclaims as if relieved.

You can’t help but return the smile. “What ar-? How come you -?”

“And here I had been recalling your tongue much sharper, my dear.”

It feels good to laugh even if it’s brief – over much too soon as reality returns together with the inkling that the charmer most likely is here as a messenger rather than a friend. Maybe Arox’s version of the story has weighed heavier than your own? And whatever Thor has figured out might not be enough to clear the suspicion towards you...let alone the obviously deep seated loathing the old king holds towards his youngest son.

“Given your situation, there is something you ought to know about Loki,” Fandral begins, the touch of seriousness heavy in the mumble, “especially in regards to the family ties.”

You listen in awe, as  Fandral hands you more pieces to the puzzle, helping you identify and place them between the ones you have been able to figure out. Some things, that you hadn’t even questioned, begin to make sense: Loki’s interest in the frozen wasteland of a planet; why he had been opposed to his own “brother” during the events in New York; how Odin shows no remorse or signs of loss when the subject falls on the raven-haired man.  _Adopted._ If you had been less invested, then this would have been an interesting study in nature versus nurture because there’s no doubt in your heart that Loki and Frigga are (or have been) as much like mother and child as anyone with blood relation  can be . Even when Fandral has to leave, there are still blanks.  He is not privy to every bit of information even if he still  i s a close friend of Thor. 

“This were said”, Fandral finishes, “that were more damaging to Loki’s troubled mind than weapons. Thing that cannot be unsaid.”

  
  


...  Loki ...

H e wants to hold Frigga. He wants to scream at her for flawlessly pretending to be his mother. Most of all, he wants to storm off and find [Y/N]. He does none of it.

“I’ve cause you so much pain directly and indirectly...” Frigga is studying him with the soul-piercing gaze of hers. “I have no right to ask for forgiveness, yet I hope we can put it aside for now and work together. Your bro- Thor has illuminated much of the darkness behind recent events but not enough. Names of beings and places. Objects of power. The knowledge of witches goes further still...but you are the greatest asset against the threat.”

“While I would _love_ to face the All-Father...nothing I can say will be considered the truth in his ears,” Loki sneers.

There’s a glimmer of a mother’s admonishment in the queen’s grey eyes at the implication but it’s gone with a blink. “No, he won’t listen to you...but he does listen to me and respects the channels at my disposition. I can feed him the knowledge you pass to me.”

“Still maintained your influence, I see.” Loki hesitates, considering how far his adoptive mother’s reach is. “I will not bother asking how long you have known of my presence...but are you the reason Heimdal has not warned anyone?”

“His gaze has been turned towards other worlds...perhaps more so after hearing a mother’s plea,” she smirks wickedly, “and I may have strengthened the veils around you.”

“And here I presumed [Y/N] should be praised for playing her role well...the escaped damsel in distress.”

The laugh is gentle like spring rain. “Oh you may keep  _praising _ her -” the sarcasms laced perfectly -”and perhaps her teacher?”

“She...is a natural.” Pride at his little mortal fills Loki’s chest, heating it and lifting a bit of the weight from his shoulders. Yes, his lover may be kind and gentle but she’s a cunning survivor too. “Can you guarantee her safety?”

“That entirely depends on our and her actions.”


End file.
